You Poked A Dragon
by Zetasigma
Summary: The loss of someone closest to Harry shows why the Hogwarts motto is apropos. He now has two missions in life, missions which would make any dragon proud; fierce care of what means the most to him and revenge against those who would do him or his harm. See how he handles the burdens of the end of 6th Year and The Hunt with these new mantras. HP/HG, NL/LL
1. Chapter 1

_"There you are then," said Slughorn, handing Harry and Ron a glass of mead each before raising his own. "Well, a very happy birthday, Ralph –"_

 _"Ron –" whispered Harry._

 _But Ron, who did not appear to be listening to the toast, had already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed it._

 _There was one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which Harry knew there was something terribly wrong and Slughorn, it seemed, did not._

 _"—and may you have many more –"_

 _"_ Ron! _"_

 _Ron had dropped his glass; he half-rose from his chair and then crumpled, his extremities jerking uncontrollably. Foam was dribbling from his mouth, and his eyes were bulging from their sockets._

 _"Professor!" Harry bellowed. "Do something!"_

 _But Slughorn seemed paralyzed by shock. Ron twitched and choked: His skin was turning blue._

 _"What – but –" spluttered Slughorn._

 _Harry leapt over a low table and sprinted toward Slughorn's open potion kit, pulling out jars and pouches, while the terrible sound of Ron's gargling breath filed the room. Then he found it – the shriveled kidneylike stone Slughorn had taken from him in Potions._

 _He hurtled back to Ron's side, wrenched open his jaw, and thrust the bezoar into his mouth. Ron gave a great shudder, a rattling gasp, and his body became limp and still._

 _(except from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling, 2005)_

{-}

Harry Potter sat alone on a rickety chair in the corner of the Hospital Wing under his Invisibility Cloak, oblivious to the happenings around him and unable to get any thought aside from one to coalesce in his mind.

Ron was gone.

Ronald Bilius Weasley, his best mate since his was 11, had died right in front of his eyes, unknowingly poisoned by Professor Slughorn. Harry felt the urge to vomit as he realized that Ron had died on his 17th birthday; the day he had become an adult in the eyes of the wizarding world. But Ron would see no more birthdays. He would see no more anything, for he lay in a bed nearby forever still and silent, and no amount of magic would make it not so.

The Headmaster had tried to tell Harry about how the mead bottle, which was supposed to be a gift from Slughorn to Dumbledore, had been tainted by a very potent toxin, far too strong for a bezoar to counteract. Harry had heard him but only vaguely, as if he had been listening to the man through a thick door. At the moment, however, the details didn't matter to Harry. All that mattered was that Ron was dead.

At first, Harry had blamed himself, thinking that if he'd just been a little bit faster that Ron might have made it. After Dumbledore had told him that the bezoar wouldn't have helped, he had started raging at everyone else. He'd started with Slughorn for not only poisoning his best friend but then standing there and doing nothing; Harry thought he had said something along the lines of he would have preferred a Niffler be in the room instead of the Potions Master since at least they were useful.

He had then screamed at Dumbledore for allowing yet another student to be murdered on his watch, the life of another of Harry's peers snuffed out right in front of him, and right under the nose of the Headmaster. This was so much worse than Cedric had been though. He and Cedric had been acquaintances, had maybe spoken 100 words in total to each other. In the last five and a half years, Harry had probably been in Ron's company for close to two-thirds of that in terms of raw time spent together. They'd had all the same classes. Did their homework together. Spent their leisure time together. Slept in the same dorm room. Harry was pretty sure that he had talked to Ron every day of his life since stepping onto the Hogwarts Express when he was 11, aside from the time spent at the Dursleys and the month during Fourth Year when Ron had thought Harry had put his own name in the Goblet of Fire and it had just been Harry and Hermione.

Hermione.

Thinking of his other best friend started to clear the clouds. He had to find her. He wasn't sure if she knew, but if she didn't he had to tell her. And, as he stood for the first time in what felt like hours and exited his self-imposed exile, he decided he had two missions in life. The first, and by far most important, was that he was going to do whatever he could to ensure Hermione was safe and protected and happy. He was going to tell her every day how special she was and how much she meant to him and how grateful he was for her; all of the things that had been swirling in his mind that he realized he had never told her or Ron. It was too late to tell him, but Harry was not going to make that same mistake with Hermione. She would know she was cared for and she would be safe, at the cost of his own life if necessary.

The second mission was not nearly as pure. Actually, it wasn't pure at all. It was vengeance. He was going to train. He was going to learn everything he could about the Dark Arts; not to use them but to know how to counter them. He would become an expert at defense and dueling. He would learn every spell, tool, trick, and tactic that could possibly be useful to his task. He would find who gave Slughorn the bottle. He would wring a confession out of them before he dosed them with their own medicine. More than likely, since the target had been Dumbledore, it was an agent of Voldemort. With that in mind, once he was done with the assassin, he was going to focus all of his attention that wasn't directed at his first mission toward removing the Dark Lord from existence.

His senses took in his surroundings, finally hearing the wails of who he assumed was Mrs. Weasley on the other side of a curtained off area toward the back of the Hospital Wing. On this side of it, he saw Dumbledore and McGonagall talking with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks, both of whom were there at an official capacity to investigate Ron's death. He had answered their questions numbly before he had simply walked away, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over himself to avoid being disturbed further. An ashen-faced Bill Weasley sat in a chair nearby, holding a sobbing Ginny in his arms and rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to sooth her. He felt a momentary pang as he saw Ginny, but it was quickly crushed by the overriding desire to find and stay close to Hermione. Ginny had Dean, her brothers, and the rest her family to pull strength from; with Ron gone, Hermione had only him in the magical world, and Harry her.

Harry left the Wing under the cover of the Cloak; if anyone noticed the door open and shut of what appeared to be its own accord Harry didn't know. More to the point, he didn't care. He stopped at the first alcove he came to and drew the Marauder's Map. Whispering the incantation to activate it, he scanned the parchment for Hermione's dot. After a scan of the Library revealed nothing, he finally found her dot buried amongst many others in the Gryffindor Common Room, though there was a distinct separation between most of them and a small group that included Hermione. Harry surmised that the rest of Gryffindor House must have been told something happened, and their housemates were giving her space. Her dot paced back and forth in front of the map's representation of the fireplace; the dots of Neville and (surprisingly) Luna were near her, obviously keeping vigil as the witch waited for word. Harry swore he could almost feel her trepidation and worry, and it ignited an even greater urgency within him to get to her as quickly as possible.

Clearing the Map and stowing it and the Cloak within his robes, Harry dashed for the nearest stairwell that would take him to his destination. He took the steps of the first hidden passage three at a time before sprinting down the Transfiguration Hallway en route to the Grand Staircase, which would take him the rest of the way up to the Fat Lady, Gryffindor Tower, Hermione, and the next phase of the worst day of his life.

{-}

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Hermione Granger said exasperatedly as she stomped her feet in frustration, her anger and concern clearly evident by her choice of phrasing. "It's been over 2 hours since McGonagall locked us in here! Where the fuck are Ron and Harry?!" she asked for at least the 12th time that day and once again to know one in particular. Her friends sitting in a couple of armchairs nearby could only shrug and shake their heads, as they had the previous 11 or so times; they were just as in the dark as she was.

Hermione, who was still working on avoiding Ron, had gone to breakfast early and been in the Library with Luna helping the young Ravenclaw revise for her Arithmancy O.W.L. when Madam Pince had declared unceremoniously that all students were to return to their respective houses immediately. She answered no questions and pushed everyone out of the Library at great haste. The two young witches had made their way to the Grand Staircase, and when they reached the Fifth Floor Hermione assumed that Luna would bid her goodbye and head toward Ravenclaw Tower. However, the blond Pureblood had simply continued walking up the stairs. When asked about it, she had answered, "The Nargles are telling me that I should go with you. Are you coming or not?" Unable to find a satisfactory response and not wanting to delay long enough to argue with Luna that she would be expected in her own common room, the two had made their way up the remaining two flights of steps to Gryffindor Tower. Most of the house was milling about the Common Room, and none seemed to have any more of a clue as to what was going on than Hermione or Luna did. With no new information to go on, the pair had moved over toward the favorite spot of Harry, Hermione, and Ron: the cozy chairs on the far side of the room near the fireplace. Ginny and Dean were on the nearby couch, speaking quietly to each other and holding hands. Neville sat at a small table behind the armchairs; it appeared he was working on homework, but he placed it aside when he saw the blond and the brunette approach and the three sat together, trying to determine what could possibly be going on.

About 10 minutes after the arrival of Hermione and Luna, the former just then realized that she had not seen either Harry or Ron since her return. She had taken to steering clear of them on weekends when she could, the relationship between herself and Ron still precarious at best. She knew it was Ron's birthday, and thought that maybe they were upstairs going through his presents. However, when she inquired of their other dorm mates if her two best friends were upstairs they had all replied that, while that was the last place any of them had seen the two boys, they were not up there now. That statement caused worry to start nagging at the corner of Hermione's consciousness. Something had happened that had forced all of the students back to their houses, and that usually spelled trouble. And, more often than not, where there was trouble there was sure to be Harry Potter with Ron Weasley at his side. But this time Hermione Granger was not also there, and this caused her to begin to fret.

Her concern increased a thousand-fold when Professor McGonagall arrived after 45 minutes and asked Ginny to accompany her. When questioned by Hermione, the younger witch could have sworn that she saw a look of remorse briefly cross McGonagall's features before the stern visage returned to the formidable Scottish witch and she stated that there had been an incident and Hermione had to remain in the dorms with the rest of Gryffindor until she returned. To ensure the compliance of her Lions, she had instructed the Fat Lady not to open the door to any student trying to leave the Tower. Hermione had been a hair's breadth from yelling at her favorite professor: obviously something had happened to at least Ron and possibly Harry as well, and she was expected to just sit and wait to find out what? McGonagall had stood her ground, however, and that was when Hermione's pacing had begun, interspersed with her questions that had started to contain more curse words as time continued to pass and her fear had bloomed into borderline panic.

A serendipitous drop in volume in the room allowed all present to hear a muffled yell coming from the other side of the Portrait Hole. Though quieted by the thick walls, whoever it was must have been projecting quite a volume to be heard as well as they were on the other side of the Fat Lady's painting. "Open the fucking door right now you bloody slag or I swear I will blast a hole in you and walk in through your burning canvas!" At that the door swung open and revealed a red-faced and fuming Harry Potter, wand in hand and seemingly prepared to carry out his threat. Hermione, seeing her black-haired friend, felt relief start to wash over her until she realized that he was alone.

"Harry!" she cried out, and his eyes focused like a laser beam on her. "Where have you been!? Where's Ron?" Lavender Brown had perked up at the name of her boyfriend; she had been chuffed at his dismissal of her as he and Harry had left the Common Room earlier that day, so she was eager to give him a piece of her mind before offering him a _very_ private birthday present.

Hermione looked at Harry, and as their eyes locked she saw it. Harry had been beaten, starved, tortured, and broken in numerous other ways, but until that moment she had never seen the depth of pain and defeat that she saw reflecting back at her. And in that instant as their eyes remained glued to each other's and he walked towards her, she knew. She knew, and the first piece of knowledge she had ever _not_ wanted to know caused her breath to hitch and her heart to ache. "No," she said, shaking her head defiantly. Harry's eyes contradicted her statement, but Hermione's mind denied registering the information. "No no no no no NNNNNOOOOOOOO!" she finally screamed as her legs gave out from under her and she crashed down onto the floor. Harry rushed the rest of the distance to her, instantly falling to his knees beside her and wrapping her tightly in his arms. "Harry . . ." came her pleading sob against his chest, begging him to tell her that she was wrong, that she had misunderstood what she had seen in his eyes. He rocked her softly and continued to stubbornly fight back his own tears, which he had somehow managed to hold at bay throughout this ordeal, as their shared grief began to consume them.

"Hermione," he whispered in a choked voice, though with the whole Common Room having gone silent at her scream he was heard by all. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. Ron's . . . Ron's gone, Hermione. He's gone. He's gone . . ." He then finally began to openly weep, his body heaving as heavily as Hermione's as they sat together in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. Neither heard the great gasps or saw the multitude of hands that came up to mouths in shocked disbelief at the stunning news. Neither heard the wail of Lavender Brown as she bolted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, Parvati hot on the heels of her best friend. To Harry and Hermione there existed only each other and their communal pain, the tearing at both of their hearts that only the loss of a loved one can cause. Harry, through his tears, held onto the dearest person left in his life, and Hermione wept and screamed in primal agony as he allowed her to beat upon his chest in anger and torment. Harry looked around desperately and saw Neville and Luna on their feet a few feet away, tears in their own eyes and their arms around each other for support. He then turned toward the rest of his house. "Out. Now. To your dorms," Harry said in a tone that would broker no argument.

"And who made you Head Boy?" sneered Cormac McClaggen, seemingly unable to remove his head from his rectum long enough to realize that he was poking a dragon. An angry, heartbroken, emotionally wrung out dragon protecting the one thing in his life that he felt gave it meaning. A wave of magic pulsed from Harry, knocking everyone but Hermione and McClaggen back a step with its raw forcefulness. Hermione was, of course, unaffected. McClaggen sailed backward through the air and impacted a bookshelf on the far wall of the room with a loud crash. As he collapsed to the ground the shelf followed, landing unceremoniously on top of him. Harry stared hard at the rest of his house for a moment before turning to Neville. The other boy nodded his head in understanding of the unspoken request and turned toward the now extremely frightened residents of Gryffindor Tower, drawing his wand in the process. Luna stood by his side, wand also in hand and any sense of the normal breathy airiness gone from her gaze. Harry, knowing that his friends would see his wishes done, turned back toward Hermione, who was still giving wracking sobs while he cradled her. He ran his fingers through her hair and whispered softly in her ear, desperate to do whatever he could to ease her suffering.

Neville addressed the room. "Anyone else want to disagree?" He jerked his chin toward the staircases. "Upstairs. Someone take that piece of worthless shite with them," he added, pointing his wand at the unconscious McClaggen. Several other Seventh Year boys grabbed the knocked out Gryffindor under the armpits and dragged him up the stairs as everyone made to follow. When the room was empty save for the weeping couple on the floor and their two friends, Neville and Luna sat down on the couch, arms instinctively circling each other again in an attempt to find some sort of solace from the news Harry had brought.

It may not have seemed like it given her state, but Hermione was discovering a small glimmer of that sought-after solace in Harry's arms. She felt shattered inside, like a glass dropped on a hardwood floor, and only Harry's strong arms and soothing presence were keeping those shattered pieces together in any semblance of cohesiveness. She clung to her best friend desperately and buried her head in his chest, needing to feel his presence, to hear his heartbeat, in order to keep any notion of sanity as her wondrous mind worked furiously to process the information she had been given and the emotions washing through her about it. Ron, her other best friend, a man she desired, a man she was pretty sure she loved as more than a friend, was dead. She didn't know how and she didn't know why; at any other time not having seemingly critical pieces of information like that would have bothered her, but given the gravity of the situation that particular character quirk was quickly squashed by her heartbreak.

She knew Harry must be feeling his loss as keenly as she and yet there he was rocking her steadily, his arms around her, his hands petting her head, his soft voice in her ear. He kept repeating the same things over and over, not always in the same order but always with the same conviction. "It's okay, Hermione. Let it out. I'm here. It's okay to cry. I've got you. I'm not letting you go. I'll do everything I can to make it better. I'll keep you safe. I swear to God I will." As she continued to weep he started adding light kisses to her temple and hairline, all the while enveloping her in both his physical and emotional warmth. In that moment she thanked every deity there was for bringing Harry Potter into her life, because without him she was sure she would have collapsed under the weight of her grief. Like Atlas, he had held the world of Hermione Granger aloft on his already burdened shoulders long enough for her to begin to put herself back together. And she promised herself that, every day for the rest of their lives, she would make sure Harry knew how much she appreciated him, and how much she cared for him. She would repay him for not only this kindness but all of the ones before. He was the dearest person to her heart now and, if it came to it, she would battle all comers by his side.

{-}

After about 20 minutes Hermione finally started to pull herself together. She slowly lifted her head off of Harry's chest, cringing slightly at the mess her crying eyes and running nose had caused on the front of his robes. If Harry noticed at all he didn't acknowledge it, and he moved his hands up to cup her face gently in them, wiping the last of her tears away with his thumbs. He drew her forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead, before leaning back and looking her in the face, asking with his eyes if she was alright. Answering the unspoken question with a slight nod, Hermione managed a small smile of thanks.

The sound of light footsteps startled them both; for almost the last half hour their worlds had consisted only of each other. Luna knelt down beside them, a box of tissues in her hand, and she offered them to Hermione, who took them gratefully. It took her several to clear her nose and dry her face while Harry drew his wand and cast a quick _Tergeo_ on his robes to clean up the majority of what Hermione's breakdown had left behind. As Hermione finally finished with the tissues, Neville took a knee on the other side of the pair from Luna and was the first to break the silence. "Harry, what happened?" And Harry told the story, from Ron accidentally eating the tainted Cauldron Cakes from Christmas right up until Dumbledore's explanation of the poison in the mead. As the story concluded, a dark look crossed Hermione's features, and the other three felt a marked rise in the ambient magic in the room as her anger started to get away from her.

"That conniving bitch!" she yelled as she jumped to her feet, her wand appearing in her hand faster than the other three could see. She turned toward the stairs to the girls' dorms and started stalking toward them. "Romilda Vane, I'm going to fucking kill you! You're the reason he's dead you worthless whore!" she screamed up them as she reached the bottom step. Thinking quickly, Harry drew his own wand and Disarmed Hermione, her wand flying into his hand. She turned toward him, and the look in her eyes promised pain and retribution. "Harry Potter you give me my wand this instant! If she hadn't laced those Cauldron Cakes none of this would have happened!" She stalked toward Harry, hands clenched into fists at her sides so tightly that her knuckles were white. Harry held his ground, and in defiance threw both his and Hermione's wands to the far side of the room as he held his arms out to the side.

"If you really think it's Romilda's fault then it's mine too," he said, and this stopped Hermione dead in her tracks. "She gave them to me at Christmas, and because of your warning I knew something was going to be wrong with them. But I didn't throw them in the bin, I just stuffed them in my trunk. If I had binned them, he never would have had them." He spoke with conviction, but the other three could see tears back in his eyes. "Do you think it's my fault, Hermione?" he asked quietly, and his voice broke as he reached the end of the question. "Do you blame me? Do you hate me, Hermione?" He barely got her name out as a whisper before he started breathing heavily, trying desperately to keep control of his emotions.

Hermione, her anger disappearing in the face of Harry's (what she felt were) absurd questions, quickly rushed back over and enveloped him in her arms, the same as his had been around her minutes before. As he struggled to keep breathing instead of crying, he continued his confession. "Because God knows I blame myself. Every speck of danger, every hurt and wound that you and Ron have suffered since you've met me, they've all been because of me. I hate myself for the pain I've caused the both of you. And now Ron's dead, and it's my fault." He lost his battle with his pain and his shoulders started shaking as he emitted fresh sobs. For her part, Hermione held him even tighter, shushing him gently as she held him to her. "I don't know if I can live if you hate me too, Hermione. Please don't hate me. Please, Hermione. Please . . ." he pleaded as he shook his head against her chest repeatedly and gripped tightly to the back of her robes with his hands.

"Harry, Harry, it's okay," Hermione cooed into his ear. "It's alright. Of course I don't hate you, you silly boy. And of course I don't blame you. Harry I lo—" she stopped herself momentarily, suddenly scared of what she had been about to say. Her Gryffindor courage kicked in, though, and taking Harry's head in her hands she forced him to look her in the eyes as she gave voice to feeling. "Harry, you are my best friend, and I love you. Nothing you could ever do will change that. Nothing could make me hate you. Do you understand me, Harry?" she asked as she felt him try to turn his head. Her grip held firm, though, and green eyes once again locked with brown. "I love you, Harry Potter. We will get through this the same way we've gotten through everything else so far. Together." She pulled his head forward and rested her forehead against his, and she felt his fists unclench from her robes as they pulled themselves closer to each other.


	2. Chapter 2

The four of them disappeared into the Sixth Year boys' dormitory after a house elf appeared telling them that lunch would be served in the Common Room. They evicted Dean and Seamus from the dorm, refusing to answer any questions, before Harry and Hermione settled on his bed while Neville and Luna sat down on Neville's. Hermione, exhausted from her earlier excitation and still desperately in need of both comfort and reassurance, laid down on the bed before pulling Harry down behind her as she laid on her side. Though both were fully clothed, the configuration still caused Harry to blush. Hermione, however, was far beyond embarrassment and just wanted him close, and so he tentatively rested his hand on her side and the two of them spooned loosely together facing Neville and Luna.

"So what do you think will happen now?" Neville said, opening the conversation and thankfully neglecting to mention anything about how Harry and Hermione were currently arranged.

"I reckon that they'll be a, err, service, in a few days," Harry responded, not wanting to use the word 'funeral' in case it set Hermione off. "I didn't hear anything about plans, or when they intend to tell the rest of the school."

"Do they have any idea who might have done it?" Luna asked, still without the normal ethereal state that the other three had come to expect from her.

"None," Harry said bitterly, though he had a person he was _very_ interested in talking with to find out if they had any information. "I remember Slughorn saying that he had meant to give the bottle of mead to Dumbledore at Christmas, but that's it." Harry wanted to say more, wanted to let the accusations lurking in his heart and mind spew into the room, but he didn't want to upset Hermione any more than she already was. There would be time later to see if he was right.

"I wonder if it's the same person that gave that cursed necklace to Katie Bell," Neville said, unwittingly introducing the very subject Harry had been keen to avoid. Yes, Harry suspected Malfoy of both cursing Katie and giving her the necklace that landed her in St. Mungo's, but he also knew Hermione had vehemently disagreed with most of his opinions about the little blond-haired ferret all year. His internal musings almost made him miss Neville's follow-up comment. "I mean, Leanne said that Katie meant it to be a surprise for someone in the castle, right? What if that person was Dumbledore?"

"And what if that same person somehow found out that Slughorn had meant to give that bottle to Dumbledore and poisoned it?" Luna followed. "Did Professor Slughorn mention where he had gotten the bottle?" Harry shook his head in the negative.

"What if neither one was meant for Dumbledore?" Hermione asked quietly, her still red and puffy eyes flicking back and forth as if an infinite number of possibilities were flying in front of her and she was trying to keep tabs on them. "I mean, Leanne only said the necklace was for someone in the castle. What if it was for Slughorn? And anyone who knows Slughorn would have realized that he's far too materialistic to give away a good bottle of liquor. They may have planned on him keeping it." Harry hadn't considered that possibility, though he considered the chances of it low all things being equal. Hermione was the deep thinker, though, often exploring layers down into a situation to try and posit the most likely solutions.

"I think Dumbledore is the more likely target," Harry offered gently. "I mean, I get that Slughorn is a master potioneer and that the Death Eaters have been trying to recruit him, but Dumbledore is a much greater threat."

"Maybe," was all Hermione answered with, suddenly no longer interested in the conversation. She took the hand Harry had on her hip and pulled it around her, letting it rest on her stomach, while at the same time snuggling her head down into the pillow and closing her eyes. Neville and Luna seemed to take this as their cue to step out.

"We're going to run downstairs and grab something to eat," Neville said as they both stood. "Can we bring you two anything?" Hermione just shook her head, her eyes still closed; Harry looked at his friend and, as before, Neville seemed to understand Harry's unspoken request, this time for Neville to make sure that no one came up and bothered them. He nodded solemnly before he and Luna exited the room.

Now alone, suddenly Harry had no idea what to do next. His actions since leaving the Hospital Wing had been driven mostly be instinct; aside from formulating his two new missions in life he hadn't had a plan for anything that had transpired in the last hour or so. And now, with just him and Hermione laying in his bed, he was completely clueless. Should he get up and let her sleep? Should he stay? Should he hold her tighter? Looser? Put his head on the pillow with hers? Should he move his hand? He was completely unprepared for how to make the transition from 'friend and protector' to 'provider of semi-intimate solace.' Though he felt the situations were vastly different, memories of his complete ineptitude with Cho sprang to mind, and he prayed that he wouldn't do anything stupid to screw up his friendship with Hermione. Her happiness was one of his missions, after all, not to mention that she was his best friend in the world.

Looking down at her, Harry decided that perhaps this wasn't as difficult as he was making it out to be. _After all,_ he thought to himself, _what do we do when we're not sure about an answer to something?_

 _Ask Hermione, of course_ was the response in his head. "Hermione," he asked softly, whispering close to her ear. She shivered at his breath on her earlobe, and he quickly followed "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

 _Startle me?_ Hermione thought in her mind. _Yes. Yes, that's what that shiver was. He startled me. Nothing more than that._ "It's fine, Harry. What's up?"

"Umm," he began, "I, uhh, I want to make sure that I'm doing what you want me to do, but I have no worldly idea what that is. What can I do to make you more comfortable, to make you feel better? What do you need?"

His thoughtfulness touched her, and she couldn't help the small smile that he didn't see. She leaned herself a little tighter against him. "Just hold me, Harry. Just be here with me." She turned her head and opened her eyes to look up at him. Green eyes met brown as the two examined each other, perhaps more openly than at any point prior in the course of their friendship. "Harry, this is going to take both of us a long time to get over, and today won't be the last time I cry, I can guarantee that. What I need from you is to know that you're here, that when I'm not strong enough that I have your strength to lean on, and for you to know that the reverse is also true. I need you to not pretend to be strong or okay when you know you're not. I need to know that we can depend on each other through whatever comes next, and whatever comes after that. I need you to continue being the amazing man I've known since I was eleven. I meant it when I said we'd get through this together. You're stuck with me, Potter," she finished with a small smile. He smiled back at her, and before anything else could happen she turned her head back away and settled back down on the pillow. Harry felt her hand tighten down on his that was around her waist. "And now I need you to lay your head down on the pillow with me. Hold me, please."

Deciding that this was a request he was perfectly capable of, and not unglad to, fulfill, he settled his own head on the remaining portion of the pillow after using his other hand to move away the lion's share of her thick brown hair. He rested his head down, his mouth only an inch or so from her neck, and closed his eyes as he let himself relax. He felt her near, felt the movements of her body as she breathed, the scent of her soap on her skin. He felt her suffuse him and he pulled her as close as he felt comfortable with, wrapping her up with him. She, alternatively, felt his aura cocoon her like a warm blanket and she settled into a much more peaceful slumber than she expected, feeling safe and protected in the caring arms of the one dearest to her.

{-}

Harry woke later, he wasn't sure how much later, to Neville shaking his shoulder. "Harry, mate," he began, "It's getting close to dinnertime. McGonagall was just here and said everyone needed to head down to the Great Hall. I guess they want to make the announcement to the entire school." Nodding at Neville, the other boy departed while Harry turned toward the still sleeping Hermione.

"Hermione?" he whispered, again close to her ear. She didn't stir. "Hermione?" he said again, nudging her gently with his head since it was the only thing available at the moment; one hand lay trapped beneath him and the other was trapped by Hermione's own as it lay against her. "Wake up, Hermione, it's time for dinner."

"Don't wanna," came the soft reply from the face buried in his pillow. "Comfy. Safe." She pulled tighter on his arm around her and unconsciously snuggled back against him, pushing her back completely against his front and wiggling as if trying to get more comfortable.

"I know, Hermione, but McGonagall said that we all need to be down in the Great Hall," Harry responded, desperately trying to keep his 16-year-old hormones from reacting to her movements. _Keep it together, Potter. This isn't about your stupid jollies. This is about Hermione._ "Come on, you need to eat," he said finally, and more reluctantly than he expected he extricated himself from behind her, sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from her.

With a slight mewl of protest she turned over onto her back and then lifted herself up on her elbows as she pondered Harry, who was taking a couple of breaths to get control of his conflicting emotions. She noticed his deep breathing and was concerned. "Harry, are you alright?"

Trying to suppress his blush, he responded. "Yeah, I'm fine Hermione." Not quite believing him, she rolled and placed a hand on his upper back while scooting her head around his side to look up at him.

"Harry, you're not alright. I can always tell. What is it?" She started rubbing small circles onto his back. "Talk to me."

Harry heaved a great sigh, taking a moment to enjoy her hand on his back before turning his head to look down at her. "Really, Hermione, I'm fine. It's just . . ." he wasn't sure if he could say it without figuratively and/or literally dying of embarrassment, but his Gryffindor-ness, combined with his desire to be as honest with Hermione as possible, brought the words forth. ". . . it's just that, when you moved before it got . . . uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" she asked, not quite sure what he meant by that, and not really liking the idea that she had distressed him.

"Blimey, Hermione," he puffed out. _Screw it. Honesty is the best policy; she'll just keep dogging me until I tell her anyway_ he thought. "I'm a bloke, and you're a very pretty witch who was pressed tight up against me. I got uncomfortable. Get it?" He prayed she did; he didn't think he could bring himself to say the words 'aroused,' 'erect' or, Merlin forbid, 'horny' to Hermione. Either she would hex the offending anatomy into next week or all of the blood rushing to his face would make his head explode. Either way, it promised to not be pretty. Thankfully, she did in fact, understand; at least Harry surmised she did based on the slight pink color that was spreading across her cheeks.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry I didn't even think about that," she exclaimed, removing her hand from his back and immediately sitting up on his bed. "I wasn't even thinking about . . . getting a reaction from you . . . when I was asking you to lay down with me. I promise I'll try to be mindful to keep things more . . . platonic from now on."

"No!" Harry said before he could stop himself, and he was quite sure that his eyeballs and hair must have been turning red by now. He was already past the point of no return, though, so like a good Gryffindor kept charging forward. "No, that's okay Hermione. I just don't want to upset you, but I want to be whatever it is that you need me to be. I think . . . I think I needed that closeness too, and I think I am going to again. And, since I'm being about as honest as I think I can be, I really enjoyed having you close, and I don't want that to stop. But please don't yell at me if . . . if . . ." he screwed up his face, " . . . if certain parts of me rise to the occasion." He scrunched his eyes shut and grimaced, completely unbelieving that he had said something so stupid.

Hermione's soft chuckle did not help _at all_. "Harry, did you just use a euphemism for getting an erection?"

"Hermione!" Harry said, scandalized.

"What? Harry, it's a perfectly natural reaction. I'm not really embarrassed by it in and of itself, just by the fact that I caused it. Actually, I'm quite . . . quite flattered," she said, finally showing some actual red in her complexion as well. _Serves you right_ Harry thought at seeing her also admit to at least a small level of embarrassment at the discussion. Hermione recovered much more quickly than he did, however, and she straightened her back and put on a serious face. "So I promise not to yell at you, hex you, or otherwise harm you if, while in the course of being a wonderful and supportive friend, you happen to pop wood."

Harry couldn't help it; he snorted and then burst out laughing at Hermione's final comment, said in such a prim and proper tone, and she joined in with him almost immediately. It was a simple thing, laughing, yet given what the day so far had held it was a glimmer of hope that the two of them would indeed get through this, that the days would not be dark forever, and that light and life would continue to flourish in the world.

{-}

The four of them entered a Great Hall that was almost full, and even if they were blind they would have been able to figure that out based on the amount of noise that the student body was generating. Luna was about to split off and head to the Ravenclaw table, but Neville's tug on her elbow combined with Hermione's arm around her shoulder had her staying the course to sit with the other three at the end of the Gryffindor table closest to the entry doors. Harry's quick scan of the rest of the table did not detect any redheads; apparently Ginny was still with her family wherever that was. He figured that they had probably left the castle by now. At the Head Table, Harry saw that Kingsley and Tonks were still in the building; they had taken chairs at the far left of the table. Every teacher and instructor, even Madam Hooch and Professor Trelawney, were also seated at the table.

As the quartet sat, Filch came in from the Entry Hall. This seemed to be Dumbledore's queue to stand and approach the podium at the middle of the front dais. The noise immediately dropped as the aged headmaster stepped forward. "Good evening, everyone. Before we begin tonight's meal, it is my sad duty to inform you of the loss of one of our own. Earlier today, Mr. Ronald Weasley passed away." Stunned faces and gasps of disbelief spread across the Hall, but Harry ignored them all and held Hermione's hand tightly as he saw new tears form in the corners of her eyes.

"What happened?" came a call from somewhere at the Hufflepuff table.

"I'm afraid that I cannot divulge the circumstances of Mr. Weasley's passing, as the events are still being investigated," Dumbledore responded, nodding his head slightly at the two Aurors seated at the table. "Sufficed to say we are taking steps to avoid any future tragic accidents from happening. I encourage you all to look after one another during this period of mourning, and know that all of the staff stand ready to assist you should you wish to speak to someone." Dumbledore stepped down from the podium as the volume in the room once again rose and food suddenly appeared on all the tables.

 _That's it!? That's all he's going to say!?_ Harry felt his blood pressure and his magic rise at both the Headmaster's words and his seeming dismissal of Ron and what had happened to him. The other three quickly turned to him as they felt the pressure build around them, and then others looked to Harry as they too realized that something very big was about to happen. Harry released Hermione's hand and stood, and though she and Neville both tried to get him to sit back down, his anger would not be tamed as he stared menacingly at the old wizard that had just left the podium, the same man who turned back as the renewed murmurs died immediately when the Hall saw Harry. "Accident?" Harry whispered, though his magic let his voice carry throughout the room so that all heard him. "An accident, Headmaster? Is that what you'd lead us to believe?"

"Mister Potter, please re-take your seat. As this is an active Auror investigation, any comments you might have should be made in private," Dumbledore said, seemingly trying to keep Harry from revealing any more about that morning's events than they were ready to reveal. Harry, however, would not be placated.

"It's not like Ron fell off his broom or slipped and hit his head in the shower," Harry said, completely ignoring Dumbledore's statement. "Those are accidents, Headmaster. Accidents are acts of God, unforeseeable events that conspire to cause us harm and misery. And, while I wholeheartedly admit that Ron's death has indeed caused those things, this was not an act of God, sir, but of man. The willful end of a life yet to be lived. This was –"

Dumbledore's wand was in his hand in an instant, a verbal " _Silencio!_ " aimed at Harry in order to forestall Harry's continued comments. Albus Dumbledore, however, had discounted two very important facts.

The first was that he'd discounted just how furious Harry Potter really was. The second was that he had no idea just what the young man, and more importantly that young man's magic, was truly capable of.

Harry's magic, which most of the Hall could feel swirling around him in a dangerous maelstrom, absorbed the spell from one of the most powerful wizards alive, who was using the most powerful wand ever created, as if it were nothing.

"—murder!" Harry finished his statement, his angry glare at Dumbledore for attempting to silence him promising future retribution. "My best friend was murdered, Headmaster; call it was it was. Poisoned. In your school, more than likely by someone in this very room!" More gasps accompanied this comment, and Harry made sure that he took a brief glance over at the Slytherin table, or more particularly at a certain blond-haired boy, whose knowing smirk at the statement that Ron had been poisoned upgraded his status in Harry's mind from 'thorn in the side' to 'dead man walking.' _Later_ he said to himself. "Two years ago, you stood in that very spot and told those gathered here about the death of Cedric Diggory. Do you remember your words then, Professor? You spoke of what a fine person he was, about how he should have been here with us. About how much he exemplified all of the best traits of his house. And you told us the truth then, sir. You told us that Cedric had been murdered by Voldemort. You chose to be honest with us then, and while many who were here that day probably weren't ready or willing to accept the reality that you were explaining to us, we all appreciated that you had the fortitude to tell us the truth anyway.

"So what does it say now, Headmaster, that you willingly keep the truth from us, or hide it behind half-statements and verbal walls? Why is Ron's death worth so much less than Cedric's? Where are your comments about Ron's virtues? Your sorrow that he is not here beside Hermione and I like he should be? Where is your toast to the fallen, for indeed Ron is as much a victim of this war as if he'd been laid low by a Killing Curse? Where is your steadfast adherence to doing what is right regardless of the consequences? What are you trying to hide from us, Professor? Is it because revealing the truth about Ron's death does not advance your agenda?" The entire room gasped at the accusation, and Dumbledore's eyes narrowed for a second before returning to their standard appraising countenance.

"That is quite enough Mr. Potter. I understand that Mr. Weasley's death has affected you greatly, and as such I am prepared to grant you significant leeway in your words and actions, but I caution you to remember who you are speaking to."

Harry nodded his head slowly, as if mulling Dumbledore's words or pondering the consequences. Nothing could be further from the truth; the only things on Harry's mind were how far he was willing to push Dumbledore and that he had to be careful to stay out of too much trouble for Hermione's sake. But he couldn't let what had become the status quo stand any longer. Finally, he responded to the older wizard. "I know exactly who I am speaking to. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Order of Merlin, First Class. Headmaster of Hogwarts. Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. A man with infinite forgiveness in his heart, and seemingly endless tolerance for those who have done or would do others harm in the vain hope that they see the error of their ways and repent.

"I may only be sixteen, Headmaster, but I am aware of at least one immutable fact which has been reinforced upon me today. Evil must be met with nothing short of our everything. Those who seek to do evil must understand that the threat of retribution goes beyond mere words. We, those who seek to live in the light, must be willing to strike at the dark with all that we have and all that we are. Anything less is an insult to those who have been lost, and all those that gave their last full measure in service to all that which is right and just and good. You besmirch Ron's name, Professor, if for even one second you know or suspect something and fail to take action against those that killed him. Kingsley, Tonks," Harry said, turning toward the two Aurors, "if the guilty party is indeed in this room right now, the Headmaster had better pray that you find them before I do. Because I will not allow evil to continue unpunished. Not any longer."

Harry looked down at Hermione and their gazes locked for only a second. She had tears in her eyes, but he could also see a fiery determination there as well as something more. He somehow knew that she hated that he was having to do this, but at the same time both knew that he had to and was proud that he was making his stand. He lifted his eyes and scanned the room before speaking softly once again. "You all wanted a savior. You all asked for someone to save you from Voldemort and all those who stand with him. You asked for someone to be the tip of the spear, a dragon whose roar would strike fear into the hearts of the wicked, whose fire would burn away the darkness and leave our land cleansed of evil. And you all, whether intentionally or not, whether it was right or not, turned to me to fill that role. Asked me to be those things." Harry turned away from the table and headed toward the doors. As he reached them, he turned back and took in the faces of everyone in the room. Some looked at him in awe, some in fear. More than a few looked at him as if he were crazy. At that moment, Harry really didn't care.

"I accept."

With that, the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, left the entirety of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was impressed with Hermione's restraint. When he had walked out of the Great Hall, he didn't think he'd make it ten steps before she was walking beside him, wanting desperately to interrogate him about what had just transpired but also wanting to provide silent support for the burden that Harry had just undertaken.

He had actually made it thirteen steps.

Hermione slid her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, conveying everything that needed to be said at the moment with just that action. Together, the two walked silently down a flight of stairs before approaching a familiar painting of a bowl of fruit. One tickled pear later and they were in the kitchens. Most of the elves were busy with the dinner rush; platters, plates, and bowls floated from prep stations to the tables to be elevated up into the Great Hall above. However one elf in particular, upon seeing them, verily hopped, skipped, and jumped over to the pair.

"Harry Potter sir! It be doing Dobby so much good to see you!" the excitable house elf said as he skidded to a stop in front of them.

"Hello, Dobby," Harry said, smiling down at the large-eared elf bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of him. "How are you?"

"Dobby is doing very well, Harry Potter sir. Dobby is being saving his wages in order to buy a ball of wizarding yarn to be doing more knitting." Dobby's eyes seemed to light up at the idea of more socks. All Harry and Hermione could do was keep smiling. "What can Dobby be doing for Harry Potter sir and Hermione Granger miss?"

"If it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could bring us something to eat," Harry replied. "Things got a little . . . intense in the Great Hall and we'd prefer it just be the two of us eating together right now."

"Of course, Harry Potter sir," Dobby exclaimed and with a snap of his fingers a small table in the corner slid away from the wall, the two chairs upon it flipped themselves over and settled on either side of it, a tablecloth floated over, and two full place settings came over and rested in their appropriate places. Harry escorted Hermione over to the table and, with a smirk on his lips, pulled out a chair for her. She shook her head at him before settling down into the offered chair. He helped push her in before taking a seat himself. Once Harry was sitting, a series of dishes began making their way over to the table. Harry began serving himself some shepherd's pie while counting down in his head. _5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . ._

"So what brought on what you said in the Great Hall?" Hermione asked, and Harry couldn't help but smile internally. "I mean, that was quite a departure from your desire to not be the Ministry's poster boy and to have everyone pretty much leave you alone. How all of a sudden did that change to 'a dragon whose roar would strike fear into the hearts of the wicked?'"

Harry blanched slightly. "I said that, didn't I?" She just nodded. "I guess I got a little dramatic there at the end."

"A little?" Hermione retorted. "I guess so, if in the same way Grindelwald has a 'little' issue with Muggles or Urg the Unclean started 'a spot of bother' with wizards." As Harry reached for his fork to start his meal, she suddenly reached across the table and took his hand. "Seriously, though, Harry; what was that?"

Harry held her hand for a second before leaning back in his chair and tilting his head up, staring at the ceiling as he tried to formulate his response. Finally he looked back down at Hermione, and she immediately stood and shifted her chair next to his when she saw the tears in his eyes. "I was thinking about Ron," he choked out as she sat back down. "I was thinking about him and Sirius and Cedric and everyone else that these bastards have taken away from us. I was thinking about how Dumbledore seemed to just dismiss him, how we're just supposed to go to class on Monday as if nothing were different. And I couldn't take it anymore. I _can't_ take it. I can't handle any more deaths, Hermione. I can't deal with Dumbledore sitting there doing nothing when I _know_ he knows something. I can't deal with Scrimgeour putting people like Stan Shunpike in jail while refusing to act against people he knows are at least complicit, if not outright guilty. I can't deal with looking across the Hall and seeing that little blond prick smiling when he heard that Ron was dead." Hermione gasped when she heard about Malfoy's reaction, the tears having already started in her own eyes when Harry had started talking.

Harry turned in his chair and took both of Hermione's hands in his own. He stared down at them as he spoke again. "I made two promises while I was in the Hospital Wing, Hermione. My life's missions, if I want to keep up with the dramatics," he said, trying to inject any amount of humor into what he was saying. He wasn't looking up so didn't see her small smile at his cheek. "And while I didn't make them to anyone but myself I'm more than willing to affirm them to anyone. The first was that I will end this. I will end them. I know that sounds terrible on the surface, and maybe it is. I'm sure revenge isn't one of the things that makes you a good person. But regardless of the why, I am going to fight. I am going to learn everything I can and I am going to have justice or vengeance or whatever it is you want to call it. For Ron. For Sirius. For my parents. Cedric. Amelia Bones. Emmaline Vance. Everyone else that they've killed. I can't do anything less now; my conscience won't let me sit by any longer."

Hermione nodded as she processed what he had said. While she, like most people, knew the slippery slope vengeance could be, she'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't feel the same deep in her heart. She wanted whoever had killed Ron, intentionally or not, to pay. She wanted Voldemort and the Death Eaters to pay for everything they'd done, especially to Harry. Because of them he'd lost his parents. Because of them he'd spent over a decade living in that hellhole with his relatives. Because of them he'd been hurt; physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. And, because of them, he would now take the weight of the world on his sixteen-year-old shoulders. She looked up at him, and he stared back at her intently as she whispered, "You're going to war."

He lifted his hands and placed them gently on the sides of her face, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away her tears. "I guess I am."

She reached up and laid both of her hands on his, which stayed caressing her cheeks gently. "I'll go with you."

Harry's gut reaction was to deny her inclusion in what he was about to do. It was his other mission, after all, to keep her safe. But in the same instant he realized that if he did that he would be demeaning her. She was a proud and powerful witch, a strong and independent woman, and it was not Harry's place to dictate what she could and couldn't do. In a perfect world, Harry would wade into the coming battles with Ron at his left hand and Hermione at his right. They might have robbed him of Ron, but he would be damned if he robbed himself of Hermione. He would just have to get good enough to ensure that the safest place in the world for Hermione was at his side.

He processed all this at the speed of thought as she watched and waited for his reaction.

"Together," he stated finally.

"Together," she responded, matching his determined look.

{-}

After Harry and Hermione had left the Great Hall, the volume picked back up dramatically; even hushed whispers, when multiplied by several hundred, created quite a racket. Two people who were not at all interested in participating in those whispers were Neville and Luna, who ate almost mechanically at the end of the Gryffindor table. Neville did occasionally turn to examine his dinner companion. Luna was being very . . . normal, which for Luna was very odd. He wasn't used to a Luna who wasn't saying off-the-wall things about imaginary creatures. If he was being honest with himself, he was quite unnerved.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore, and he put down his silverware and he turned to regard her. She had her long hair pulled into a loose braid, and as he turned she also laid down her knife and fork before demurely wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Yes, Neville?" she asked simply.

This caught Neville a bit off guard, even though it was he who had turned to begin the conversation. Caught out like that, he blurted the first thing that popped to the front of his mind. "What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" she responded. If she was at all upset by his bluntness, she didn't show it.

"Well," Neville began, a slight pink on his cheeks, "it's just that normally you're so . . . so . . ."

"Loony?" Luna said. "Loopy? Dippy? Flighty? Taken to fancy? Not quite playing with a full deck?"

"Well . . . yeah," he said sheepishly. "And since this afternoon you've seemed so . . . so . . ."

"Focused? Cogent? Coherent? Together?"

"Do I even need to be here for this conversation?" Neville snarked playfully, a smile on his face.

"Of course, silly. How in Merlin's name could I complete your sentences if you weren't here to start them?"

"That's a very Ravenclaw response."

"Then it's fortunate I'm a Ravenclaw," she quipped back without missing a beat.

"Getting back on topic," Neville continued, knowing that he was wholly outmatched in a battle of wits with Luna Lovegood, "yes, you've seemed quite different from what we've come to expect from you. Care to explain?"

Luna stared off to a spot above Neville's shoulder as she tried to gather her answer. Shrugging, she looked at the sandy-haired boy and said simply, "I think it was Harry."

Neville's head cocked to the side at that. "What do you mean?"

Luna's lips pursed as she tried to articulate something that, at its heart, defied words. She began her story slowly and quietly, speaking only loud enough for Neville, sitting right in front of her, to hear. "I . . . broke . . . when I saw my mother die. There's no other way to explain it. It was the worst pain you could ever imagine, combined with a million other sensations. Fear. Loss. Hopelessness. Nine-year-old me didn't know how to handle it and so I lost myself in another world, one partially encouraged by my father's incredible stories, which in hindsight part of me wonders if they weren't just bedtime stories that he kept using to distract me. I could assign all of those feelings that I didn't know what to do with to being caused by my creatures. I could deflect and divert any new pain or insult away from . . . from what was left of the me that had been there before Mum died." Luna seemed to be struggling, and without thinking Neville reached out and took her hand in his.

"It's alright if you don't want to talk about this, Luna," he told her simply. She smiled at him, and in that moment Neville saw the bright young woman that had been hidden beneath the persona Luna had wrapped around herself.

"It's okay, Neville. I'm actually a bit relieved to be getting this off my chest, though I would prefer to continue this somewhere that the entire school can't eavesdrop. Would you walk with me?"

"Of course," Neville responded immediately, taking his napkin off his lap and standing. The two of them exited the Great Hall and started up the Grand Staircase; they weren't dressed to head outside.

When they reached the second floor, Luna continued her story. "I fell into the cocoon of the Luna that you've seen up to this point. Oh, I'm still her, and she was always me, but I guess it was simpler to be a bit crazy than to feel hurt, or to let anyone see the me that had been so damaged by Mum's death. I'm not sure if that makes a lot of sense."

"Maybe not entirely, but since I haven't lived your life I think it would be hard for me to understand completely. And I think I do understand a bit. I remember a couple summers ago Gran asked me to expand my reading material beyond Herbology books. She'd handed me my mother's favorite book, _The Scarlet Letter_ by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Have you ever read it?" Luna shook her head. "I would be surprised if you had; he was a Muggle, and an American one at that.

"Anyway, there's a quote in that book that really struck me. It goes 'No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.' I think that might be what happened to you. You buried yourself in the mask of who everyone else called 'Loony Lovegood' in order to escape your pain, and somewhere along the way you forgot what it meant to be Luna Lovegood, or rather this Luna Lovegood."

"That's amazingly profound, Neville," Luna said, smiling brightly at him. "And more than likely quite correct. In trying to run from the hurt, I ran so far I forgot how to be who I really was."

Neville smiled back. "But that still doesn't explain how Harry changed anything. I mean, you haven't seen him any more than I have today." They turned a corner and headed up a back stairwell to the 3rd floor before continuing their conversation.

"I fell behind that . . . mask, as we seem to be calling it, to avoid my pain and my torment after Mum's death. Today, when Harry did what he did to Cormac, you felt the wave come off of him, right?" Neville nodded; it would have been impossible not to. "Was all you felt the pressure around you, pushing you?" He nodded again. "I felt something else. For the first time in that wave, in Harry's soul given form by his magic, I felt someone else who was feeling loss the way I had felt it. Whether he realized it or not, or whether he could describe it or not, Harry loved Ron like a brother, almost like a piece of himself. And his death, again whether Harry realized or not, struck him just as profoundly as if he'd watched a flesh-and-blood brother die right in front of him. That was very similar to what I had felt those years ago. Helpless. Hopeless. Afraid. Broken. But where I had taken all of that anguish and diverted it away from myself, Harry embraced it, used it to fuel a new fire within himself. And when he did that he also found my solution, my salvation even. When I felt that wave wash over me, I knew it was okay to feel those things, that I could take the mask off and still be safe. I knew I wasn't alone. I still feel all of those things that I've denied since I was nine, and I'm sure that I will have some bad days as I try to assimilate all that into this . . . this unmasked me. But I know now that it can be used for something useful, as opposed to the younger me who just thought it was all there only to torment me. Because of what I felt from Harry, I'm not afraid of it anymore. Get it?"

Neville smiled and nodded before stopping to take in their surroundings. Without even realizing it, they had made it up to the Fifth Floor and had come right to the door to Ravenclaw Tower. "Well that was fortuitous timing," he chuckled.

"Only if you believe in such things," Luna replied. "But thank you very much, both for walking me back to my dorm and for letting me get all of this off my chest. It's been a very long time since I've had what most would describe as a normal conversation, even if the subject matter wasn't very cheerful."

"Maybe not, but it was still very enlightening. Inspiring, even. We can work on cheerful for the next one."

"Oh, are we having more walks just the two of us, Mr. Longbottom?" Luna asked with what could only be described as a saucy smirk on her face. Neville felt himself blush.

"If you'd be willing, I would like that," Neville answered honestly.

"I would like that too," Luna replied. She lightly grabbed both of his shoulders, stood up on the tips of her toes, and kissed him softly on the cheek. "I'll see you in the morning?" Stunned by her actions, Neville could only nod dumbly, his brain having shut down at what had been his first kiss of any kind from a woman who was not a relative. "Excellent. Good night, Neville," she said, before turning and walking toward the door to the tower. Neville, brain still in neutral, turned like an automaton and shuffled his way back toward Gryffindor Tower, his hand occasionally moving up to touch the place on his cheek that still felt warmer than the rest of him.

Once she was alone inside Ravenclaw Tower, Luna leaned up against the wall just inside the door. She blew a long sigh as she stood there. "Well, that was different," she finally said to the empty room, and a wide smile crossed her face before she headed towards her dorm. A long soak in the tub and a long night's sleep seemed to be in order, two acts that would allow her the time to properly process the literally life-changing events of the day.

{-}

"They're still waiting," Harry said as he continued to examine the Marauders Map. Since they had finished dinner they'd wanted to leave the kitchens and either go back to Gryffindor Tower or to the Room of Requirement where they could continue to sit and talk and comfort each other; after all, it had been less than half a day since their closest friend had died, and it wasn't like the rest of the day had been a whole lot easier. The rub was that Harry was sure, regardless of their current mental or emotional state, Dumbledore would want to track him down and berate him for his actions in the Great Hall earlier, which was something that Harry was not in a place that he could deal with right now. If he ran into the Headmaster after the roller coaster day he'd had Harry would be lucky to leave the encounter without trying to curse the aged wizard; he had no doubt that yelling would be involved whether the inevitable conversation took place today, tomorrow, or a week from now. After all, the last time Dumbledore had tried to talk to him after someone close to him had died, Harry had ended up trying to destroy the Headmaster's office.

Harry's theory that Dumbledore was looking for him seemed to be born out by the Map; Snape appeared to be lurking in the hallway where the door to the Room of Requirement was, and McGonagall appeared to have parked herself in the Gryffindor Common Room, presumably at the Headmaster's orders. They needed a plan to avoid both professors, and Hermione was at that moment formulating, examining, tweaking, and discarding plans at a rate Harry couldn't hope to keep up with. _She really does have an amazing mind_ Harry thought, not jealous but rather in awe of her. Finally, her eyes lit up and she looked over at Harry. "Is anyone out on the grounds?" she asked.

Harry perused the map before answering in the negative. "Okay, today must have been harder on me than I realize because I'm going to suggest a plan that I don't think I'd even consider on any other day." As she explained her plan to Harry, he had to agree; if he'd had a million tries he would have never guessed Hermione would suggest the plan she was. But her plan had merit, and so they began their way up to the front doors. They had to cram underneath the Invisibility Cloak to make it past Filch in the Entrance Hall; the close quarters made Harry have to remind himself again that Hermione was his best friend and was very vulnerable in order to keep his body from having its desired reaction to having her repeatedly bump up against him as they squeezed together.

They made the lawns without incident and, as soon as they had cleared the light of the doors they threw off the Cloak and headed toward the Quidditch Pitch. Once there, Harry went to the broom shed and grabbed his Firebolt while Hermine kept a watch in case Hagrid or anyone else happened by. Returning to her, he mounted the broom before reaching a hand out to her. Now that the moment was upon them she seemed to be re-thinking her plan, eyeing the racing broom with a look somewhere between disgust and fear. "Hermione," Harry began, and her gaze lifted to look at him and to his outstretched hand. "Trust me," he said simply.

That seemed to work, as she immediately took his hand and settled herself behind him on the broom. He heard her give a quick incantation before he felt her chest press strongly to his back and her arms snake around his waist. "Sticking Charm," she said simply, "just in case."

 _I've got Hermione's . . . Hermione's . . . Hermione stuck to my back_ Harry thought. _Damnit, knock that shite off_ he berated himself before kicking off the ground with less force than he normally would, so as not to scare Hermione too badly. He knew that this experience would frighten her for several reasons. The biggest one, however, was that she didn't like heights; or, more specifically, uncontrolled heights. She was fine with tall buildings or airplanes, where there was glass and steel around you. But a tree or a broom, where there was nothing between you and the open air, terrified her. That she was behind him, even if he wasn't doing anything crazy, was a testament to the level of faith she had in him. He did his best not to break that trust by moving slowly, though with two riders the flight characteristics of the broom were shot to Hell. He was constantly having to make adjustments to their flight to account for the unbalanced weight, so there were many small jerks and twists to their ride up to Gryffindor Tower in general and the window to the Sixth-Year boys' dorm in particular. Still, they made it without too much trouble, though Harry could feel Hermione trying very hard not to hyperventilate as her head rested on his shoulder. Upon reaching the window Harry looked in, very relieved to see that Neville was already in the room. Harry tapped on the glass of the window to get the other boy's attention, but Neville seemed to be lost in thought about something. Harry tapped harder, again with no response.

Finally, with Harry pounding on the window almost hard enough to break it, Neville came out of his stupor and looked shocked as he saw the two of them at the window. He rushed over and undid the latch, and Harry slid the broom back slightly to allow the window to swing open. Fortunately the opening was large enough for him to manipulate the broom through with a little creativity; he was sure that if he asked Hermione to let go of him while they were still off the ground he would have heard the most vociferous combination of 'No' and 'Hell No' that the teenage witch could manage. As it was he was able to get them inside and, with solid ground under them once again, Hermione ended the Sticking Charm and climbed off the broom, only to immediately crawl into his bed and turn away from the both of them as she tried to get herself back under control. Neville quickly closed and re-latched the window as Harry stowed his Firebolt underneath his bed.

"What was with the entrance?" Neville asked. "Not that it wasn't dramatic, though not quite as dramatic as your exit of the Great Hall earlier. A flapping cape would have been better, though." If Harry didn't know Neville better, he would swear that he had just been teased by the taller boy. He knew the boy's confidence had been growing steadily ever since the DA last year, but he still had some social awkwardness to him. Harry smiled, though; it was good to try and keep things light considering all that was going on, and he inwardly made a note to thank Neville for that later.

"Well, it would seem my theatrics have caused a stir in more ways than one; McGonagall is down in the Common Room, I'm assuming to take me to Dumbledore. That is not a conversation I'm interested in having right now, so we needed to get a bit creative in order to avoid her."

"Blimey," Neville responded, looking over toward the closed door that led down to the stairwell. "She wasn't there when I got here, but then again I'm not sure what time it is."

"Almost curfew," Harry answered. "Speaking of that, you seemed pretty distracted when we got to the window; what was that all about?" Harry was surprised to see Neville blush.

"Oh, yeah. Well, after you two left Luna and I got to talking."

"Talking doesn't make someone blush like you are right now, Neville," Harry teased.

"Well, I walked her back to her dorm and she . . . well, she kissed me."

"Really?" Hermione said, turning back on the bed to face them and joining the conversation.

"Yeah. Right here," Neville said, pointing to his cheek. "I guess I've been a bit out of it since; I don't even remember the walk back to the Fat Lady."

"Was that your first kiss from a girl?" Hermione asked, to which Neville just nodded, his eyes on the floor. "Neville, that's great," Hermione said, standing and squeezing the boy's arm lightly. "I remember mine. It was Viktor after the Yule Ball. It was on the cheek, too. I never said anything about it because I knew Ron would give me a hard . . ." she trailed off as her demeaner changed entirely, and she was suddenly sitting on Harry's bed with her head in her hands, her bushy hair obscuring her features. Both boys saw her shoulders start to shake as she started crying again.

Immediately Harry was on his knees in front of her, and her arms went from guarding her face to latched around his neck in an instant, her face buried in his shoulder as she sobbed. After a moment, Neville sat on the bed next to Hermione and tentatively put his arm around her shoulders. "Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

After a few minutes she had collected herself enough to speak. "You didn't upset me, Neville. Far from it. It's a wonderful thing to happen, and that it's got you so flustered shows that you really like her." Neville blushed again as a small smile crossed his lips. "It's just . . . still raw, you know?" Neville nodded. "It's going to be a while before I can think about Ron without it hurting so much. Neville, would you see if Madam Pomfrey would be willing to give you a Calming Draught for me? I think I might need it to get through the night."

"Hermione, if I go downstairs McGonagall will ask if Harry is up here. She'll find out."

Harry ended any discussion on the topic before it could start. "I'll deal with McGonagall if it comes to it," Harry said curtly, and both Neville and Hermione could see the fire in his eyes. "If this is something Hermione thinks she needs, then she's going to get it." Neville, hearing the determination in Harry's voice, just nodded before leaving the room.

"Harry, please don't go all . . . dragon-y on Professor McGonagall," Hermione said. "She's just doing what she's been asked to by the Headmaster."

"I know, Hermione," he replied. "If it comes to it, I'll do my best to calmly and respectfully make sure she completely understands my stance and why, at least for the moment, Dumbledore can go fuck himself."

"Harry –" Hermione began.

"You," he interrupted her, "are the most important person, the most important anything, in my life. That you are alright, that you are safe and taken care of, is . . . is . . ."

"Mister Potter," said an older voice with a Scottish brogue from behind him.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he said, temporarily ignoring Professor McGonagall and looking at his best friend, "you're my other promise," he finished softly. He didn't give Hermione a chance to respond to that before standing and turning to face his Head of House.


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N: Thank you all for the views, favorites, follows, and reviews. I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this story.)

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"Good evening Professor," Harry said, trying his best to keep any anger out of his voice. No matter how much he might like or respect McGonagall he _really_ didn't want to deal with any of the school's authority figures right now; that's why they'd come in through the window in the first place. But Hermione's needs trumped his own discomfort or inconvenience any day. "How may I help you?"

McGonagall took the scene in for a moment before responding. Miss Granger was sitting on the bed, her reddened, puffy eyes wide as she looked at Potter's back. Potter standing what could only be called defensively in front of her, a neutral look on his face despite the seemingly friendly greeting. She held in check her original question of how they had managed to get past her and into the dorms in favor of why she had actually been there in the first place. "Mister Potter, Professor Dumbledore has requested to speak with you in his office."

"No."

McGonagall's right eyebrow raised questioningly. "No?"

"That's correct, Professor. I said no."

"Mister Potter –"

"Professor," Harry said, interrupting the Transfiguration teacher. He knew that it wasn't the best idea if he was seriously trying to keep the peace, but he had to get his side of things out before she tried to pull rank, or before his barely in-control emotions spilled over and this devolved into a screaming match. "Ron died this morning. Our best friend died this morning. We are both, I think understandably, not dealing with it very well." Harry looked back at Hermione, whose eyes weren't wide anymore but was still looking at him oddly. He turned back to McGonagall and looked her squarely in the eye. "More than anything else we need each other right now, Professor. I am not leaving Hermione. Not for you. Not for the Headmaster. Not for the Minister of Magic. No one. If Merlin himself was downstairs and wanted to meet me, I'd ask him to come back tomorrow. Actually I'd ask him two things; if he could come back tomorrow and if Hermione could meet him too. I don't think she'd forgive me if I met Merlin without her."

Both women in the room snorted; Harry's attempt to bring some levity to the current detente appeared to have worked, if only to small effect. "Indeed, Mr. Potter," McGonagall answered simply. "Mister . . . Harry, Hermione," she began, and both teens saw probably the gentlest face they'd ever seen on the stern Scotswoman. "Please know that I grieve with you. Perhaps not in the same way but . . . I know what it is to lose someone you love. Someone that was a part of you. Ronald's death was a tragic loss that could have, should have, been prevented. When you brought the necklace to my attention all those months ago, while I may have dismissed your belief that Mister Malfoy was the culprit, I and Professor Dumbledore should have had the staff begin to be more mindful of other potential dangers to the students. Perhaps if we had . . ." she let the statement die, both because she wasn't sure if it would have prevented Weasley's death and because she didn't think her comments would truly assuage any of the pain the pair were feeling.

Harry studied the formidable witch for a moment. He appreciated her comments, even if he was still convinced that Draco had something to do with both incidents. He just wished it hadn't taken yet another death, and one that hit so close to home, for her to realize that they should have long ago started being more proactive about the protection of the students. He sighed; that line of thought would get them nowhere tonight. "Professor, please tell Professor Dumbledore that I'll be more than agreeable to seeing him at a later time, after we've had some time to process all of this; when what's happened today isn't so raw, to borrow the term that Hermione used earlier." He stepped back toward the bed and placed a hand on Hermione's left shoulder; her right hand came up and over her chest to rest on his. "I'm more than willing to have him, and you, deduct any points or assign any detentions that you think are justified for my defiance, but I know that Professor Dumbledore doesn't want to see me in order to try and make me feel better. He wants to talk me down from what I said earlier in the Great Hall. I'll tell you right now that is _not_ going to happen. This has to end, and if no one else is going to step up to make that a reality then I will. So unless you're willing to draw your wand I am not going anywhere without Hermione, and I certainly am not going anywhere near the Headmaster tonight."

The simple yet clear threat took McGonagall by surprise, and she spent a long moment re-evaluating the young man in front of her. He stood as a dichotomy; his words and bearing towards her were powerful, defiant, even dangerous. And in the same moment, his hand resting gently on Hermione's shoulder and his obvious protection of her in her time of need showed a depth of emotion and caring that went beyond the understanding of so many people their age. As a teacher and as the Deputy Headmistress, McGonagall should be berating Harry for his comments and for his continued flouting of the requests of the Headmaster. As a woman who had lost two people who had meant more to her than perhaps any others, one to tragedy and one to her own fears, she respected the stand he was taking and why he was taking it.

In more ways than one. While she would never admit it aloud, she too had moments where she wished for someone to carry them through the coming storm. She hoped for a rallying point, a beacon to light their way through this darkness, as Albus had been when she was very young against Grindelwald. And, like so many others for good or ill, in those moments when she despaired the most she had listened to Albus and looked upon Harry to be that person. Now she was seeing the results of those moments; a man who knew the rest of the world looked to him to make it right, a man who had finally and with great reluctance accepted that mantle regardless of the cost to himself. Add in that she was seeing him in perhaps the worst moment of his life (that in and of itself made her cringe, for she knew how many 'worst moments' Harry had experienced in his young life) and she didn't have it in her to put her duty above her humanity. Here were two of her cubs, and they were in pain; her _true_ duty in that moment seemed clear.

"There will be no need for any of that, Mr. Potter. I will relay to the Headmaster that you've already retired for the evening, and it would be inappropriate to disturb you." She stepped over and placed one hand on Harry's shoulder and, leaning down, placed the other on Hermione's shoulder that Harry wasn't touching. "I am so, so sorry for your loss, my dears. If there is anything either of you need, please don't hesitate to call on me."

Harry smiled for the first time since McGonagall had entered the room. "Thank you, Professor. I think, at least for right now, what we need most is some time and to be here for each other." He looked down at Hermione, who simply nodded her agreement at the statement.

Releasing both of the teens, McGonagall gave a stiff nod before turning and leaving the room. As soon as the door closed, Harry's shoulders sagged and he collapsed down onto the bed beside Hermione. He took off his glasses and threw them onto his nightstand before rubbing his closed eyes and holding the bridge of his nose; these moments he kept having today were really starting to give him a headache. He felt the bed shift as Hermione moved but didn't react at first. When he did, it was to groan in appreciation as her small but strong hands started massaging the tension from his neck and shoulders. "Damn that's perfect," he managed to get out.

"Well, you've been taking care of me all day; it's only fair that I return the favor," Hermione said with a smirk. "Besides, if I get you relaxed enough maybe you'll answer my question honestly."

"Keep doing that and whatever answer you want it's yours," Harry replied; it really did feel divine. He wondered cheekily if he had enough money in his vault to hire someone to just walk behind him all day doing this.

Hermione continued for a few minutes before the question that had been on her mind for the last few minutes finally came forth. "Harry," she began, "what did you mean that I was your other promise?"

Harry nodded slightly; he figured that was the question she would want to ask. He'd spent a bit of time thinking about how to answer her when her curiosity finally got the better of her, as he knew it would. "Can I answer your question with a question?"

"Only if you don't expect that to be the end of your answer."

Harry turned and sat cross-legged on the bed facing Hermione. She, in turn, took a similar position, their knees touching. Harry put his hands in the middle, partly on his own ankles and partly on hers. Hermione again adopted the same stance, her hands resting atop his. He stared down at them for a moment before asking his own question. "Did you mean what you said earlier today?" He looked up at her and saw her confusion. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me? Or did you just say it to get me to calm down?"

Hermione sat upright, pulling her hands away, and stared at her best friend hard. She figured that, eventually, she'd have to explain her comment, but she was shocked that he would think that she would have said something that personal and not have meant it. "Of course I meant it. What would make you think I didn't?"

Harry shrugged, his eyes still pointing downward. "No one had ever told me they loved me before that. I'm not . . . not sure I really believed anyone would ever say it," he admitted. Before she could say anything else, he continued. "I realized when I was sitting in the Hospital Wing that I'd never really told Ron how I felt about him. That no matter how much he pissed me off at times that he was the closest thing to a brother I'll ever have. I never told him how much I appreciated his friendship, of him and the rest of the Weasleys opening their home to me, welcoming me like one of their own. I know that, without Ron, that would never have happened, and I would have been stuck with the Dursleys even longer. He never knew that him walking into that cabin on the Express and sitting down changed my life, helped to restore my hope for a life that might just be worth living. He never . . . he never knew how much I loved him. And now he's gone and he'll never know, and that tears at me in ways that I can't describe."

Harry then looked up at Hermione, the teardrops sliding down his cheeks matching those on hers. "And, as I continued thinking about it, I realized that I've never told you any of those things either. I've never told you how much your friendship means to me. I've never said how much I have appreciated all of the help you have given me, whether it was correcting my homework or getting on Buckbeak's back to help me save Sirius. You've never known how much I admire you: your intelligence, your compassion, your dedication to what you believe is right, and so many other things. I've never been able to tell you how sorry I am for all the stupid things I've done, for how much I've gotten you in trouble, or for how many times I've gotten you hurt. I don't know how many times you've almost died because of me, but in every one of those moments my heart stopped, because I don't know what I would have done if . . . if you hadn't made it. I'm sorry for how much time you've lost with your family; the Christmases you missed to help me or spend time with me, or the summers you've cut short in order to be there for me.

"And so I promised myself that, while I may have missed my opportunities with Ron I was not going to squander a second of my time with you. I would tell you all of the things I just said; make sure you knew that I appreciated you and respected you and admired you. Every day I would make sure that, as much as was within my power, I would make sure that you were happy and safe and knew that you were . . . that you were loved." His next words came out barely above a whisper and were so full of emotion Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to smile or sob. "Because I do love you, Hermione. I may have never heard it before today and I may have never said it before today, but I know with every fiber of my being that I love you. You are my best friend, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you have the amazing life you deserve." Harry took a couple of deep breaths as he finished his confession. His eyes returned to his lap and he was surprised to see that, without either of them realizing, both his and Hermione's fingers had entwined in the small space between them. He squeezed, and felt her squeeze back, and it caused him to smile.

"Harry . . ." Hermione started, but the arsenal that was her vocabulary failed her, and instead she leapt up and wrapped her arms around Harry, knocking him backward. They both collapsed onto the bed hugging each other tightly, foreheads touching and eyes closed. She struggled to find words to describe how she felt about everything he had just said, but only four seemed to really convey everything she wanted to say. "I love you too," she whispered.

That was how Neville found them twenty minutes later, arms holding each other tightly as they slept. He placed the Calming Draught and the vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion Madam Pomfrey had given him on the nightstand and pulled the curtains of Harry's four-poster closed around them before grabbing his, Seamus's, and Deans' pillows off of their respective beds and leaving the room, closing the door as gently as possible behind him. The three of them could kip on the couches in the Common Room tonight. If the other two boys didn't like it that was just too bad.

{-}

Minerva McGonagall walked with purpose through the hallways of the Seventh Floor to the gargoyle that protected the stairwell to the Headmaster's Office. "Licorice wand," she stated, and the guardian moved out of the way to show the spiraling staircase that led up to her destination. She took the steps quickly and walked through the already open doorway to see Albus Dumbledore standing near the French doors that opened up onto the balcony, apparently staring off onto the darkened grounds. The clicking of her heels caused him to turn and acknowledge her. "Minerva, excellent. Please send Harry in."

"I can't do that, Albus," Minerva responded as she took a position just inside the door to the office.

Dumbledore looked at her oddly. "It's past curfew. Am I to assume that Harry is out of bounds after hours? If so I need to make the prefects aware so that a search can be initiated immediately."

"That's not necessary," the witch said. "When I left Mister Potter he was secure in his dorm room."

"But then why –"

"Because he doesn't want to talk to you!" McGonagall said, her exasperation both at herself and Albus finally cracking through her normally steady demeanor. "For Merlin's sake, he watched his best friend DIE this morning; I think I can understand why he isn't in the mood to talk very much right now. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that the only was he was leaving Gryffindor Tower, and Miss Granger's side, was at wandpoint."

"Nonsense," Albus answered, "he's just being overly dramatic. Like that speech he gave in the Great Hall. I'm sure once he's had a chance to think things through he'll realize what a mistake it was to take such an extreme stance before he's ready."

The Scotswoman just shook her head. "Albus, I don't understand how you can continually be so obtuse when it comes to Potter. You know as well as any of us the trials that young man has gone through and the losses he's suffered. Well, now thanks in no small part to our actions or inactions, he's suffered one loss too many. He's drawn his line in the sand, Albus, the same way that you told me you did with Gellert. He will not be swayed from his course anymore."

"I refuse to accept that," Dumbledore said, letting a little of his own anger shine through in his tone. "I cannot allow him to walk that path."

"I think we're well past the point where he's going to ask your permission for anything, Albus."

"He's a child!" Albus said emphatically.

"Not anymore!" McGonagall retorted just as strongly. Her hands were in fists at her sides. "His experiences have made it such. For the love of all that is holy, Albus, step back and _think_ about what Potter's gone through. How many people has he seen killed right in front of him, and not just any people but _family and friends_? His mother, Cedric Diggory, Sirius, and now Ronald. For Merlin's sake he saw Quirrell die when he was eleven, and that was by his own hand! How many others have almost joined them? His cousin with the Dementors, Delacour in the maze at the end of the Third Task, every one of his friends that went with him to the Ministry last year.

"How many times has he faced the impossible with nothing but his will to survive and succeed? Defending the Stone. Defeating a thousand-year-old basilisk. Driving away scores of Dementors with a single Patronus at the age of thirteen. Anything having to do with that train wreck of a Triwizard Tournament. Standing up to Death Eaters and You-Know-Who himself in the Department of Mysteries.

"Do we have any right to continue calling him a child after not only what he's been through, but how he has handled it?" she asked finally.

Albus walked over to his desk and collapsed into the chair. He suddenly looked every one of his one hundred and fifteen years. "How did it come to this?" the man asked morosely. He removed his glasses and placed them on the desk in front of him before closing his eyes and tilting his face up to the ceiling.

Minerva, seeing the defeat in her friend's demeaner, took one of the chairs facing the desk. "Has it been so long that you've forgotten, Albus?" she asked, and when he looked at her confused she explained. "Did you not once tell me that it was Ariana's death that finally started you on the path to being the man that you've become? Is it so difficult to believe that the trauma of losing a sibling would be the last straw to engender a similar reaction in Potter? Make no mistake, Albus," she said when the man's mouth opened to begin a denial of the depth of Harry's feelings for Ron, "Ronald Weasley was as much a brother to Harry Potter as Sirius Black was to James, and as you were to Ariana. You know as well as anyone that family is so much more than blood: you've just chosen to deny yourself that depth of attachment except in very rare cases, and even then only for very extreme reasons where the fate of the world hung in the balance. Is not Newt Scamander like the son you never had, or perhaps the relationship with a younger brother that you always wished you had with Aberforth? Is not Harry Potter like a grandson? You've spent so long in this tower pondering and trying to solve the problems of the entire world that you've forgotten what it is to fight for a single cause, for a single person.

"And that is where you fail to understand Harry. You have lived a long and illustrious life fighting for causes. The world begged you to, and you answered the call, and you've never stopped. You've dedicated yourself to trying to deny the worst that mankind has from gaining ground, whether that was through the teaching of the young or your attempts to convert and redeem the wicked. You've come to see the entirety of the magical world as your students, people who need to be educated and explained the error of their ways that they might walk a better path. And, in large part, you've turned away from that level of emotion for individuals that almost caused your downfall when you were a young man, and that you still blame for Ariana's death all these years later. You see the entire forest, Albus, but have forgotten the trees.

"That is not Harry. Despite what he said downstairs, and despite what he might currently believe himself, he will not fight for causes. He will not fight because the people ask him to. He will not fight this war to save the wizarding world. It's for the trees of your forest, Albus. He will fight to save Longbottom. To save Lovegood. The Weasleys. Remus. Me. You. And, most of all, he will fight to his last breath for Hermione. This world that You-Know-Who wants to build would see her dead or subjugated, and he will never permit that. So he will bring all of himself to bear; his will, his mind, and his magic, to see them undone. And he will succeed, because the alternative is so anathema to him that he will not allow it to become so." McGonagall, her throat slightly dry after the rarely expressed passion and vehemence she had put into her statements, stopped to let the aged wizard digest everything that she had said.

"I'm afraid for him," Dumbledore finally confessed after a few moments. "You're right that I care for Harry more than only a select few others in my life. But he has already suffered so much, and it scares me that the added burdens combined with all of the pains that you've laid out will be too much. I fear that he might descend into the very things that I've struggled with and against all my life, not only from without but from within. I know how easy it is to slide from justice into vengeance. I know how quickly the line between passion and wrath can become blurred. I've seen it. I've felt it. How do we keep him from suffering the same fate as Gellert or Tom or so many others that have allowed their rationale and humanity to be overridden by passion and emotion?"

McGonagall smiled genuinely at her old friend. She knew that in his heart he was a good man, but that he had carried so much for so long, his own guilt and shame on top of the hopes and aspirations of much of the wizarding world, that he couldn't help but have to devolve the world into a game of chess in order to keep from losing his sanity. But it was moments like this, where he was honest with his emotions and concerns, that reminded her of all those years ago, when two broken people had bared their burdens to each other and came out stronger on the other side. Sometimes he just needed to be reminded that attachment and emotion did not have to be paths to darkness; like magic itself, it was all about intent.

"We don't," she responded to his query. He looked at her with a shocked expression. "I understand that you're an intellectual, Albus, and that you can't help but see much of the world as black and white, light and dark. Harry is more . . . grey. He is all of the things you seem to be afraid of being yourself; passionate, impulsive, reckless even. He derives his strength from his ability to care, from his ability to love, something that you've said many times is the greatest magic in the universe. But it is that same love that will not allow him to fall, because to do so would rob him of his reasons for loving to begin with. He may not end up the paragon that we all envision but there is no doubt in my mind that, at the end of this, we will not have traded one Dark Lord for another." She smiled again as she thought of the display she had seen earlier in Gryffindor Tower, and of all the others she had seen over the last six years. "Do you honestly believe that Hermione Granger would allow him to be anything less than the best version of himself?"

Albus made a slight chuckling noise as he shook his head. "No, I suppose she wouldn't. She is as much a force of nature as Harry himself."

"That she is," Minerva responded. "I firmly believe that those two will shake the foundations of the world before this is over, and they will do so because of the depth of their feelings for each other and for those that are closest to them."

"So what do I do now?" Albus asked simply.

"Allow them time to grieve and find themselves again. Stop being afraid of who Harry could become and concentrate on who he is and what he's going through. Put aside your plans and your schemes and your chess board for the moment and be all the things you've always wanted to be. A teacher. A mentor. A friend."

Dumbledore looked down at his hands, one hale and healthy, the other blackened and withered. If Severus was right he did not have much time left, and instead of truly preparing Harry for the tribulations that were to come he had succumbed to his fear, using the Pensieve to show Harry a morality play about how easy it would be for him to become like Tom Riddle in the hopes that the boy – that the man – did not share the same fate as Voldemort. _So much time wasted because of fear_ Albus thought to himself. _What damage have I already wrought with my stubbornness and indecision, and how much of it can I correct before the end?_

Albus turned his head to look upon the great Phoenix perched on its stand in the corner, then to the formidable witch who had never been afraid to knock some sense into him when he needed it. Time might be running out, but the sand hadn't run out of the hourglass yet. He reached for his glasses and slipped them back onto his crooked nose. There was work to do.

* * *

(A/N: McGonagall's history, specifically the losses of Dougal McGregor and Elphinstone Urquart, are from her biography published on Pottermore. Her comment about 'for the love of all that is holy' is also an intimation from her biography; her father was a Muggle minister, so it's not outside the realm of possibility that she would use a term like that.)


	5. Chapter 5

Harry and Hermione woke nearly simultaneously very early the next morning. As each became aware of the world again, they realized that they had somehow become even more attached than they had been when they'd fallen asleep; their arms were still tightly wrapped around each other, but their legs had also slipped through robes and become entwined, one result of which was that Hermione could feel Harry's manhood pressed tightly against her right thigh. Harry also seemed to realize this and started to make a move to extricate himself when she tightened her arms around him.

"We talked about this, Harry," she whispered, their heads still very close. She saw the concern and embarrassment in his eyes as his cheeks reddened. "It's okay. I want you close. I'm not embarrassed; you shouldn't be either." She wasn't sure what possessed her to do so, but she unabashedly pressed her thigh harder against him. "Nope, definitely nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Fucking hell, Hermione," Harry said, though he couldn't suppress a nervous but genuine chuckle as he twisted himself away from her before pulling back the curtain and standing up. "Give a guy a complex, why don't you? I swear I was a hair's breadth from a heart attack." Her action had the hoped for results, however, as he was no longer blushing, his embarrassment forgotten in the wake of her boldness.

"Calling it like I see it," Hermione replied. "Or feel it, as the case may be," she finished cheekily. Harry just ran his hands through his hair and looked at her exasperatedly, and she decided to take pity on him. "Do we have a plan?"

Harry sat back down on the bed after putting on his glasses and thought for a moment. She was absolutely right that they needed to figure out their next steps; everything so far had been emotion and instinct. "Well, the way I see it we have a few things we need to do. First and foremost we need to up our game; Stunners and Body Binds probably aren't going to cut it at the end of the day. I need to get that memory from Slughorn, and we need to figure out what Horcruxes are and why they'd be so important that Slughorn would alter his own memory." Harry sighed at the next one. "I need to talk to Dumbledore and try to figure out if he's going to help or if we need to avoid him." He looked up at her and smiled. "We need to study; just because we're about to take on a bunch of bigoted terrorists insistent upon my death and world domination doesn't mean we can afford to let our grades slip." She slapped him on the arm as she smiled back at him. He sobered, though, at his next items. "We need to talk to the Weasleys and find out when Ron's funeral is. I'd . . . I'd like your help coming up with something to say at it, if you think you're up for it." She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder as she nodded. "And last, but certainly not least, we need to find or help find whoever gave that bottle to Slughorn," he finished with so much venom in his voice that it sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. She thought about the list for a few minutes before she responded.

"Harry? How sure are you that Malfoy had something to do with it?" she asked tentatively.

Harry blew out a long breath. "I have no evidence at all aside from his reactions, but . . . I don't know. My gut tells me he either did it or knows something about it."

Hermione nodded. "Your gut is good enough for me for now. I think I have an idea as to how we might be able to get him to talk."

"Hermione?" Harry asked tentatively. He knew she was still off-kilter and didn't want her doing anything she'd regret later.

"Nothing too bad, Harry, I promise. For now, I think we should get cleaned and changed and have some breakfast. After that, if you let me borrow the Cloak and the Map I will work on the first part of my idea. In the meantime, maybe you can go to the Room of Requirement and see if it can help us out. It did a wonderful job last year when we needed to train; I'm wondering what it will give you if you ask now." Harry nodded, and she lifted her head up and kissed his cheek. "Get ready; I'll meet you down in the Common Room in a half hour or so," she said before rising and leaving the room.

He watched her go before flopping back on the bed, now adding 'confused' to the existing list of 'heartbroken,' 'determined,' and 'angry' that described his current emotional state. He had his missions, he and Hermione (at least) were going to war with the Death Eaters, he might have to go to war with the Headmaster, and his best mate had been murdered. It really seemed that he had enough on his plate already. That being said, his prevailing thoughts at the moment were how good it had felt to wake up next to Hermione and how much feeling her pushed up against him had turned him on.

For a while his feelings toward Hermione had been somewhat. . . jumbled. She had ever been and continued to be his best friend, the one person who, despite disagreeing with him on more than one occasion, he felt had never abandoned him. As the years of their friendship had passed he had also evolved feelings for her that he deemed to be like that of a brother to a sister. He enjoyed bantering with her like Ron did with Ginny, and he was protective of her like the Twins were of their little sister as well. And at times she annoyed him to no end just like he'd seen siblings like all of the Weasley children, Parvati and Padma Patil, and Colin and Dennis Creevey react to each other. Though he wasn't sure how he knew the sensation given his upbringing, he felt a deep-seated sensation of family when he was with Hermione. To him, she just felt like _home_. He wasn't willing to jeopardize that feeling for anything and so had subconsciously quashed any notion of romantic interest in Hermione.

This year, however, things had started to change, and those notions had started to pop up again. At the beginning of the year she had said he was 'fanciable;' she had commented on not only his strength of character for weathering the public and political storm of their Fifth Year, but his physical growth and attributes as well. That had thrown him for a loop, and it had made him notice her 'physical growth' as well. _There's no denying she's a girl anymore_ Harry thought, having noted previously but now having felt her rather impressive chest pressed against him tightly multiple times over the last day. As he dove more deeply down the rabbit hole he cursed that thrice-bedamned Amortentia from the beginning of the year. He had noticed the flowery smell he had gotten from it when Ginny had taken the Prince's book from him, and that had driven 'the beast' that he'd started feeling in his chest over the summer further down the path toward the youngest Weasley. But it wasn't until yesterday when he had moved Hermione's hair away and breathed in her scent as he lay behind her that he noticed that Hermione smelled the same way. More than likely she and Ginny had the same soap or perfume; it made sense given how close they were and them sharing a room when at the Burrow. Maybe Hermione was more economical with it and so he hadn't consciously noticed until he was right up against her for a long period of time. But now he had, and it had caused even more internal turmoil.

And then, THEN, she had to go and do what she did earlier, causing his teenage libido to spike and driving his already frazzled mind places he wasn't prepared for it to go, not to mention confusing him even more. With his emotions already messed up from Ron's death he wasn't sure what the hell was going on in his head. What he immediately knew was that he wasn't getting any answers laying here in bed, and there was work to be done. That didn't mean he had to like how scrambled he was currently feeling towards his best friend.

 _God damned stupid hormones_ Harry thought as he grabbed his towel and started getting ready for the day.

{-}

Hermione made her way downstairs to the Common Room, seeing Neville, Dean, and Seamus sleeping on three of the couches. She made a mental note to herself to thank them later for their consideration and thoughtfulness in staying out of their own room last night. She quickly made her way up the girls' stairwell and into her own room, noting that all of the curtains (even hers) were drawn shut. She shed her robe and placed it in the hamper next to her bed before grabbing a change of clothes and heading for their bathroom. She started the shower before beginning her normal morning ablutions, finally ending with her letting the hot water run over her as she contemplated her actions earlier. _What the hell did I just do?_ she thought to herself. _Did I . . . did I just feel Harry up?_ Her feelings for one Harry James Potter had been varied for a while now; if she had spoken to Harry about it she would have realized they were very similar to the issues he was having, though she had been having them for longer. She too felt the strange mixture of best friend, sibling, and . . . something more; she had ever since their time together before the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Unfortunately, it was that same event that had driven her away from trying to explore that 'something more' in any greater detail; hands covered in undiluted Bubotuber pus after exceedingly slanderous articles had caused her to be sent no shortage of hate mail (which had only stopped after the Prophet started taking jabs at Harry the summer after the tournament) had seemed a pretty strong indicator not to. Granted part of the problem was that the articles had intimated she was playing with Harry's emotions as part of a love triangle, but for her it was better safe than sorry. She cared for Harry deeply, but would rather suppress any further feelings she might have if that was going to be the world's reaction.

That was one of the reasons she had started exploring her feelings for Ron, at least within herself. It made sense considering how much time she spent with both of them that she would hold similar feelings for the two. She felt the same bonds of friendship and 'something more' with Ron, though she had never felt the sibling connection with him. She knew she had loved Ron and that, given a chance, she could very likely have fallen in love with him as well if she hadn't already; having never been in love (as far as she knew) she had no idea where the line between 'love' and 'in love' truly lay. Regardless, that relationship likely would not have caused her or Ron any of the difficulty and heartache that even the imagined one between her and Harry had caused the two of them during Fourth Year. To her logical, reasoned mind it seemed the best solution; she kept both of her boys close while hopefully avoiding as much unpleasantness as possible.

Those thought out, well-reasoned arguments had been shot to hell this year. First Harry had gone and gotten himself all un-scrawnied over the summer (yes she was making up words; that was how discombobulated she was) and had grown into a bit of a hunk. Then, Ron had hooked up with Lavender, not only shooting down any chances she had with him but then Harry had to go and try to be a better friend to her to make up for the deficit despite her giving him grief about that stupid Potions book, making her feel even more affection for him. And now, at the lowest point she had ever felt in her entire life, there was Harry Potter not only being her rock when she needed him the most but expressing himself and his emotions to her in ways that she never thought he would given how closed off he had always seemed over the years. He'd told her that he loved her and that she was his mission in life; what girl wouldn't get weak in the knees at something like that?

Hermione knew she wasn't in a good place. She knew that, emotionally, she was very messed up right now and was likely to make a lot of mistakes and bad decisions. There were a lot of very important, true life-and-death, things that she and Harry needed to do, and soon. None of that stopped her from occasionally finding her hand subconsciously touching her thigh, where not 20 minutes ago had been pressed the erect presence of her best friend. And what had she done? She'd pressed into him tighter, enough to feel his heartbeat against her leg. She needed to get a handle on herself before she did something they would both regret when they made it through to the other side of this nightmare. That didn't stop her hand from reaching down again as a small smirk crossed her lips. She caught herself and schooled her features as she quickly rinsed her hair and turned off the shower.

 _God damned stupid hormones_ Hermione thought as she grabbed her towel and finished getting ready for the day.

{-}

Harry and Hermione met in the Common Room and, careful both not to wake Harry's dorm mates and to avoid too much contact given where their thoughts had roamed over the last half hour, headed downstairs. This early on a Sunday the Great Hall was pretty empty; there were only a half dozen other people in the Hall and none of them dared to bother the Gryffindor duo as they came in. The pair took the same seats they had the night before, at the end of the table closest to the doors, and ate slowly as they quietly discussed anything but what was really on their minds. Mostly the conversation involved classes; what work they still needed to complete before class tomorrow (if there was class tomorrow), Hermione talking about an extra credit project she was working on for Ancient Runes, and the like. Soon enough they were done and exited the room as inconspicuously as they could. Hermione pulled Harry into the room that First Years waited in before the Sorting, and Harry passed over the Marauders Map and his father's Invisibility Cloak. "I'll meet you in the Room in less than an hour if all goes well," she said to him before disappearing underneath the Cloak. The only way he knew she'd actually left was that the door was now swinging open on its hinges. A slightly perturbed look crossed Harry's face as he also left the room and made his way up to the Seventh Floor corridor that held the tapestry of dancing trolls.

As he approached the appointed place he started to give more thought about what he should ask the Room for. Last year they had needed a place to practice Defense, and the Room had certainly delivered. Now, however, his requirements seemed more vague while, if anything, his need was more urgent. Harry decided that, in the end, he had some leeway; if he didn't get what he needed the first time around he could always leave the room and word his request differently. That out of the way, he started pacing in front of where the door would appear.

 _We need a place to wage war. A place to train, plan, and stage battles. We need help on not only going to war, but how to survive it._ Harry felt ridiculous; his requests to the Room were so insane that he couldn't imagine it actually responding, thus his surprise was complete when a very solid looking door appeared on the opposite wall. Quickly, Harry opened the door and stepped into the room, blinking his eyes several times to try and figure out exactly what the Room had given him.

The Room was split into three distinct sections. To his left was a large conference table in a dark wood with what looked like very comfortable chairs. Several tall cabinets were against the left wall, and a chalkboard was hanging behind the chair at the head of the table. On the table in front of that same chair was a book of some type. To his right was what looked like an updated version of the training room from last year; in addition to the open area and the bookshelves that likely held tomes about defensive and offensive magic, a few dummies stood against the right-hand wall and there were stripes on the ground at intervals denoting distance to the targets. It reminded Harry vaguely of a Muggle shooting range. It was the center of the room, however, that truly caught his interest.

Against the wall directly opposite him was a huge floor-to-ceiling map of Britain with several areas pulsing in a bright orange scattered here and there upon it. At about head height to the right of the main map was an inset that appeared to denote London. Directly in front of the map was a large table that held a three-dimensional representation of Hogwarts and the surrounding grounds out to probably 100 meters past the wall representing the outer boundary. In the area representing the forest Harry could see a multitude of red and yellow dots moving about, along with one green dot right near the edge of the forest by Hagrid's hut. It reminded Harry of the terrain model battle maps from World War II that he had seen on a television show once.

Harry bypassed the floor map for a moment and went up to examine the map on the wall. As he got closer he could see that it was labeled in a very old-style script, and that some of the orange lights represented places he knew about. Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and St. Mungo's were all lit, as were at least a dozen other places; he found it odd that there was no dot on the London inset where he knew the Ministry building to be, however. Harry scanned the rest of the map and as he reached the bottom left was immediately beset by a surge of emotion as he read the label. "Godric's Hollow?" he whispered. He had never known where the town he would have grown up in, the town where his parents were killed, actually was. It hadn't been until Hermione had made mention of it being in one of the books about him and Voldemort that he had even known the name of the place. It didn't look that far from Ottery St. Catchpole, where the Burrow was.

Seeing the name of his original hometown and thinking about the Burrow made Harry think about the losses associated with both sites. He turned away before the sensations had a chance to overwhelm him and approached the conference table, once again noting the book laid out at the head of the table. Looking down, he saw a badge emblazoned on the front of the rich leather cover that he did not recognize. He pulled out the chair and sat down before noticing that a piece of loose parchment was stuffed into the very front of the book. Taking the parchment, he opened it and began to read.

 _To whomsoever may find his journal, my greetings and commiserations. My name is Caleb Alonzo Longbottom, and if you are reading this my assumption is that, despite erroneous arguments that this so-called Statute of Secrecy will create an eternal era of peace amongst wizards, Magical Britannia or the world at large is once again in a time of strife and battle. Thusly you have asked the Come and Go Room to help you and have come across my addition to this amazing construct. This room, which I have simply dubbed the War Room, was created by me after a life spent at war for King, Commonwealth, or as a member of the_ Kriegsmagier _. If you wish to read more of this, or about myself, the folio before you is the collected journals of my life, making note of things both professional and private. I ask only that, if any of my family name survive to your day that you make efforts to see that they might also peruse the documents within._

 _To your right you should see two large armoires. These contain my true contribution to your cause in the form of a Pensieve and assorted memories, musings, and lessons. For over 50 years have I been a war mage, both on my native soil and abroad, and it has been my unfortunate blessing to have learned enough about the art of war and warfare to fill both cabinets. I pray that they may be of use to you; if even one of them helps avert or dampen a travesty like the ones I have seen or allows a single innocent soul to survive when they might otherwise not have then I will consider the effort well worth it._

 _Though I write this, and leave these items for you, I will confess that it is my deepest wish that this room never be called into existence again. Though it has been my life's pursuit for much of my adulthood, war is truly a terrible institution, and while honor and glory may be found on the battlefield it is, in my humble opinion, a much nobler pursuit to love your woman with all your heart and raise up a strong, moral, and upstanding family with her at your side._

 _I hope that you will use my teachings well and bring end to whatever conflict has caused you to be here now so that you, those you love, and all worthy souls may be assuaged the horrors of war forever. Until that day,_

 _I am your humble servant,_

 _Caleb Alonzo Longbottom_

 _Order of Merlin, First Class_

 _Lord Marshal of the Kriegsmagier 1665-1677_

 _Headmaster of Hogwarts 1678-_

 _Signed the year of our Lord 1683_

Harry put down the note and would be lying to himself if he said he did not feel the emotion of the man who had written it upon the page. Here was a man who, if the evidence could be believed, had spent a life in battle and yet seemed to wish for nothing more than peace. It mirrored much of how Harry felt himself; he longed for the day when there was no more Voldemort, no more Death Eaters, and he could simply find the calm tranquility in life that Caleb had alluded to. Knowing that said tranquility would only come after he had raised his wand in anger, Harry sighed before walking over to the cabinets. Opening the one on the right, he saw the Pensieve situated on a lower shelf, the upper shelves filled with vials containing what he knew to be memories. Looking down toward the Pensieve he saw another set of parchments, and once he pulled them out and perused them he saw that they were a catalog of sorts, showing all of the subjects and sub-headings that Caleb had left. All types of offensive and defensive magic seemed to be listed, some that he knew and some he had never heard of. There were also topics like 'reconnaissance,' 'interrogation,' 'command of large groups,' and several specific memories caught Harry's eye very strongly, the first of which being 'the morality of killing in battle.'

It was a subject that Harry had been struggling with since the Ministry. He and his friends had limited themselves to Stunners, assorted jinxes, and immobilization spells while the Death Eaters had no compunction about using deadly spells in combat. In his head at the time Harry had thought that those acts in and of themselves were what separated the good from the evil, but since then he wondered how different that fight would have gone if he and his friends had used true offensive magic. The Death Eaters would have been much more cautious in their pursuit if they'd felt more in threat for their lives, and he was almost certain that Hermione would not have been injured as she had been had she put Dolohov down hard instead of just Silencing him. He resolved to look at the memories of that type, the morality and ethics questions, before any others unless he found something even more pertinent. Any viewing would have to wait, though, for he was not going to go any further without discussing all of this with Hermione. And so he sat back down at the table with the list of memories and started working on an order of viewing that he would discuss with her when she arrived.

{-}

Hermione, meanwhile, had stealthily made her way down into the dungeons and to one door in particular. It was an understood truth that, with rare exception, the more difficult the potion the more expensive the ingredients to make it were and these two factors combined caused those potions to be worth more. As a result, many NEWT-level potions crafted by students were bottled in their entirety after brewing instead of just a sample flask being submitted and the rest Vanished or otherwise disposed of. The school covered the cost of the more expensive ingredients and then recouped those costs, as well as restocked the other miscellaneous potions stores provided to students, by selling the potions the students had crafted (after the grading sample was tested to make sure it was properly made, of course). There was a room near the Potions classroom where these ingredients and completed potions were stored prior to being sold, which was normally done over the summer break unless there was a need on the market for a particular potion. Right now, there were only two that Hermione was interested in, and they hadn't been crafted by a student.

She approached the door carefully and made sure using the Map that no one was nearby; it was still early for a Sunday so the halls were empty. A quick _Specialis Revelio_ detected no untoward charms or hexes on the door, and a whispered _Alohamora_ unlocked the door while a _Silencio_ prevented any potential issue with squeaky hinges. Shaking her head but otherwise thankful that most of wizardkind remained too blindingly short-sighted and lacking in logical reasoning to protect such treasure with anything more than a simple Locking Charm, she made her way into the room and closed the door behind her.

Once inside she started moving down the shelves, hoping that what she was looking for was still there. Thankfully the completed potions were sorted alphabetically, so she was able to find what she was looking for relatively easily. First came Polyjuice, and she was disturbed to see that there wasn't nearly as much as should have been there from when Slughorn did his presentation at the beginning of the school year. Obviously either some of it had been sold (indicating a desire for it outside the school, which was probably bad) or, more distressing, someone in the school was using it for some purpose; her mind immediately went to Draco. Justifying it to herself that it would be 'safer' than leaving it there, Hermione stuffed the remaining 10 or so one-hour doses of Polyjuice into her schoolbag before moving farther down the shelf row to the 'V' section. There she found and quickly pocketed 2 vials of Veritaserum. After ensuring that the 'F' shelf was empty (she wasn't sure what she would have done if there had been more of the Felix Felicis that Harry had won), she left the room, re-securing it with a weak _Colloportu_ s spell like she had found it, and made her way out of the dungeons.

A part of her wanted to see if Luna was up yet and in the Great Hall; after what Neville had told them last night she was curious as to how the blonde Ravenclaw felt about everything. Her desire to get back to Harry overrode the one to gossip, however, so she kept the Cloak on to avoid having to speak to anyone she might encounter and made her way up to the Seventh Floor. Seeing the door across from Barnabas the Barmy and his trolls she opened it and, like Harry, had to blink a few times as she took in the current configuration of the Room of Requirement. She was especially interested in the bookshelves and the potential goldmine of new information they held, at least until she saw Harry at the conference table looking through a sheaf of parchments. She called out to him and he looked up before smiling widely; she couldn't help but smile in return as she approached the table and sat down across from him. "Harry, this is incredible. What made you think all of this up?"

"I didn't," he said simply, before sliding the letter from Caleb Longbottom over to her. She read it quickly before looking over his shoulder at the armoires.

"Well, we'll certainly be learning from a master," she said, and explained her statement when Harry looked at her confused. "Caleb Longbottom is generally considered one of the greatest battle wizards that ever lived. He fought in the Wars of the Three Kingdoms before joining the _Kriegsmagier_ , who were basically the magical equivalent of the medieval monastic orders like the Templars or the Hospitallers, and fighting all across Europe during the middle of the 17th century before becoming Headmaster. He was assassinated in 1688 by wizards loyal to James the Second after he publicly declared his support for William and Mary. He was said to be a master strategist but also an incredibly fair and honorable man." She looked at the cabinets. "There's so much. Do you have any idea where you want to start?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "There was one I was very interested in looking at as soon as possible, but then I saw two others that I think we should see first." He slumped a bit before turning the folio in front of him toward Hermione and pointing at three entries, one on its own and two listed in succession: 'the morality of killing in battle,' 'on the loss of those dearest,' and 'eulogizing the honored dead.' Hermione took a few deep breaths to steady herself after seeing the list, and Harry took her hand and held it tightly. "We can start somewhere else if you want," he said quickly. "I just . . . I thought it would help with . . . with everything."

She stood and walked over to him, kneeling in front of him and putting her hands on his knees before looking up at him. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't crying; Harry took that as a good sign that she was gaining control over her grief. "No, Harry, I think it's perfect. Let's start with those and then maybe . . ." she blushed slightly, "come up with an outline of what you might like to say?" she finished nervously.

Harry stood, bringing her up with him before pulling her into a hug, blasting through any awkwardness that might be left over from when they woke up in favor of showing her his support. He held her there for a long minute, making sure that she understood that he wasn't going to make fun of her for her studious approach. "That sounds good, Hermione. Let's get started, shall we?" With a shaky nod from her, they broke apart before Harry walked over to the cabinet and pulled the Pensieve and the two vials they wanted to look at. Placing the device on the table, he uncorked the vials and poured the silvery memory strands into the basin. Turning toward Hermione, he took her hand and nodded, before both of them stepped up to the Pensieve and, one at a time, dipped their faces into the shimmering liquid.

Forty-five minutes later the two emerged from the basin, and Harry immediately sat down and pulled Hermione into his lap, burying his head in her hair as she wrapped her arms around him and burrowed into his shoulder. Caleb's lessons had been incredibly painful, insightful, and enlightening, and as the two of them drew renewed strength from the other's closeness each started organizing their thoughts on how to use the old war mage's advice to properly both mourn for and honor their departed best friend.

* * *

(A/N: _Kriegsmagier_ translated from German literally means 'war mage.'

I decided not to go through Caleb's lessons here, as we'll hear or get a feel for a good chunk of them later on during Harry's eulogy.

Expect the timeline in the story to accelerate slightly after the next chapter, which should include Ron's funeral and its immediate aftermath. I know that we're 20K+ words in now and barely a day has passed, but given what that day held and how Harry and Hermione's actions, thoughts, and feelings during that day will impact the story going forward I felt it important to do a lot of setup. I apologize if it the pacing feels too slow; I'm going to work on that.

As before, thanks very much for the views, reviews, and follows/favorites.)


	6. Chapter 6

Neville had always loved his bed at Hogwarts. It was large and comfortable, and the only time he'd ever had a bad night's sleep was when Ron's snoring was particularly loud. That was why at first he couldn't figure out why he had a horrible crick in his neck as he returned from the land of Nod. It took a few moments of semi-consciousness for him to remember the events of the previous evening and to realize that instead of the warm, comfy bed in his dorm he was laying on one of the most used couches in the Common Room in front of a fire that had burned down to embers in the night.

He shivered slightly as he swung his feet to the floor and stood, trying to work out the other stiff muscles that revealed themselves as he started to move. Looking down at his watch, he hoped that Harry and Hermione were already up as he desperately needed the loo and, only slightly less pressing, he was eager to get down to breakfast to see if Luna was there. He'd been a bit leery of her at first when they'd met on the train at the beginning of Fifth Year, but despite her quirks he'd taken to admiring the lithe Ravenclaw from afar since the previous year during the DA meetings. Then she'd gone with them to the Ministry and had proven her mettle while simultaneously endearing her to him even more. But ever since they'd gotten back in September he hadn't been able to work up the courage to ask her to Hogsmeade. If there was anything positive to come out of the tragedy of Ron's passing, it was that it appeared he and Luna had been given the chance to get to know each other, and he wasn't about to squander it.

Finding their dorm room empty, Neville quickly showered and changed before heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He was disappointed on his arrival that Luna wasn't there, but his mood brightened considerably when she walked through the doors about 20 minutes after he'd sat down. He couldn't hide the smile on his face as she walked over and took a seat right next to him. "Good morning, Neville," she said quietly.

"Good morning, Luna," Neville responded, his nerves fighting a war with his happiness at seeing her. A happiness that she didn't seem to entirely share, much to his disappointment. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough," she responded as she started pulling serving dishes towards herself. At his questioning glance, she turned her head to him and spoke in little more than a whisper, "Spiritual awakenings and the shattering of false masks don't really lend themselves to a peaceful night's sleep." In a louder voice she continued, "Besides, my dorm mates were up most of the night talking about everything that happened yesterday and trying to figure out how they could jump Harry."

Neville nearly choked on the drink of orange juice he'd been taking and sputtered as he responded, "Why do your dorm mates want to hurt Harry?"

"Hurt him? What do you mean hurt him?" she asked, looking at him oddly. It took a few seconds for recognition to cross her features. "Oh, I'm sorry Neville. 'Jump' is a Muggle term. It doesn't mean ambush or attack like you seem to be thinking. Well, not entirely I guess," she said with a slight, and cute as far as Neville was concerned, pinking of her cheeks; something else the 'old' Luna was not known for doing. "It means they were trying figure out a way to drag him into a broom cupboard." Luna smiled lightly as Neville's cheeks then started to turn pink as he realized what she had meant. "What he did yesterday, both what happened in the Great Hall and the rumors that spread from Gryffindor Tower after he got back there in the afternoon, seem to have . . . well, caused Harry to have an even greater increase in popularity amongst the young women of Hogwarts, if you catch my meaning." Neville could only nod as he went back his eggs and sausage.

As breakfast continued it became apparent that Harry and Hermione were not going to make an appearance. He wondered where they were and hoped they were okay. Yesterday had been emotionally draining for him; he could only imagine how they were feeling. Still, their absence allowed him to do something he'd spent six months working up the courage to do. "Luna?" Neville asked, and the fellow blond turned her large silvery eyes towards him. "Do you . . . I mean, would you like to take a walk through the greenhouses with me this morning?" He continued quickly before she had a chance to answer. "It's just that it's still kind of cold outside, and I really enjoyed our talk last night, and you said you would like to have more walks, and I thought that maybe the greenhouses would be a nice way to be kind of outside without really being outside, and . . ." he scrunched up his face, convinced that he was doing this all wrong.

"A walk through the greenhouses sounds like a lovely idea, Neville," Luna replied with a smile, immediately setting him at ease. The two finished breakfast and walked up first to Ravenclaw Tower and then Gryffindor Tower to pick up their winter cloaks; even the short walk out to the greenhouses was likely to be unpleasant without them. They bundled up and made the trek across the grounds to Greenhouse 1. Neville knew the layout of the greenhouses very well, having spent a great deal of time in them helping Professor Sprout, so he took Luna's cloak and hung it up next to a different door than the one they had come in before offering Luna his arm as his grandmother had taught him to. She accepted with a smile and they moved through the plants slowly, idly speaking about the plants themselves, their experiences with various flora and fauna, or just making idle chit-chat. It wasn't until they made it to Greenhouse 4 that any topic of real consequence came out. It had arisen innocently enough, Neville asking what Luna liked to do during the summers.

"Well, for the last few summers I've spent a lot of time talking to my mother. Well, visiting her grave and talking; I like to think she was listening though," Luna said, and though it was said matter-of-factly enough Neville could sense the sadness in her voice. He started to apologize for brining it up when she cut him off. "It's alright, Neville. I think talking about some of this would really help, and you're very easy to talk to," she said with a small smile. "It's just . . . it's been hard enough with her being gone just because she was my mum, you know? But it got to be especially hard when I started growing up." With Neville again seeming to not really know what she was talking about, Luna found herself having to explain. "Neville, you remember those lessons from second and third year with Madam Pomfrey about the changes boys and girls go through as they become men and women, right?" Neville blushed and nodded; short of classes with Snape the lessons with the Matron about puberty and 'growing up' had been the most uncomfortable learning experiences of his life. "I don't know how it is for boys, but a lot of the things that Madam Pomfrey went over in those classes are usually reinforced or explained more at home by mothers and older sisters, at least that's what Ginny said. I didn't . . . I didn't have anyone but Mum to talk to. I love Daddy, but I've always known I could never really take anything serious to him, not after Mum died." Luna took a deep breath to center herself. "And so I would talk to her about all sorts of things. It was a chance to let a little bit of this me back out while trying to get a handle on stuff like hormones and monthlies and starting to like boys," she reddened slightly as she mentioned the last two.

Neville, for his part, just nodded in understanding. "I never really thought about it like that. I never had anyone to talk to about all of that stuff either. I mean, the boys in the Tower are always talking about that sort of stuff, but I guess what you're talking about is different. Less . . . well, less boasting and posturing and more substance." Luna nodded and he continued. "Gran isn't the most open person in the world, and the lessons she and I had were always about deportment and how to be a proper English gentleman, stuff like that. Dad, well . . . I think you know what's going on with my Mum and Dad," Neville said quietly, and Luna answered in the affirmative before stopping their walk to pull him into a hug which he returned gratefully. "I miss them," he admitted as they continued on their walk. "I mean, I never really knew them I guess, and I do get to see them over the holidays, but . . . I wish I could talk to my Dad they way you talk to your Mum."

"There's nothing stopping you, Neville," Luna answered as they walked back into Greenhouse 1 through the door that Neville had put their cloaks next to. "It might help you work things out. I know that I have a lot to talk about with Mum the next time I get to visit."

"Like what, if I may ask," Neville questioned as he helped Luna put her cloak back on.

"Like this really cute Gryffindor boy who I've been talking to and that I think I might be starting to like as more than a friend," she returned with a shy smile.

Neville gulped. "Really?" he managed to croak out. _Smooth, Longbottom_ he thought to himself.

Luna, however, just nodded coyly. "Yep. And I'm hoping he might be starting to think about me the same way" she said as she lowered her head and stared at her feet, unsure what would happen next.

For a moment Neville wasn't sure how to respond until words that he hadn't heard in almost five years came back to him. ' _Their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart.'[1]_ As the words from his Sorting reverberated in his head, Neville proved once again that he had been sorted into the correct house by gently taking Luna's chin in his hand and lifting her head up, his other hand moving to the small of her back. Meeting her stare with his own, he whispered, "I'm positive he does," Neville said before closing the gap between them. Her arms lifted around his neck as their lips met, the first true kiss for either one of them made slightly awkward by the huge smiles both had on their faces.

{-}

Harry and Hermione spent a productive day in the War Room reviewing memories, working on some of their homework, and jotting down notes on either Caleb's lessons or their ideas for Ron's eulogy. They also worked on a few letters to be sent off with Hedwig later; one from both of them to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, one from Harry to Remus, one from Hermione to her parents, and after viewing one particular memory from Caleb Harry drafted a final letter to Gringotts. They decided to forego lunch, as neither of them was either particularly hungry or particularly eager to interact with the student population at large or encounter the staff, with the possible exception of McGonagall or Hagrid. Hermione was fairly sure that Harry would likely try to melt Snape with his brain if they encountered each other today.

The day wasn't without its pitfalls, however. At one point during the afternoon Hermione almost had to Stun Harry when, while perusing the Marauders Map looking for Neville and Luna, he had seen Draco Malfoy lurking in the hallway outside the door. He had stormed towards the door intent on dragging the blonde Slytherin into the room and beating a confession out of him, and only Hermione's repeated reassurances that she had a plan for Malfoy had kept Harry from following through. He had insisted on hearing her plan, though, and after doing so agreed with her that it probably had a better chance of success in their learning what Malfoy knew and what he was up to than Harry's proposed 'Stinging Hexes to the testicles until he talks and then do it a few more times' methodology. Both agreed her plan would probably not be as satisfying as Harry's idea, however.

As dinnertime rolled around they both agreed both that their hunger was starting to affect their concentration and that they needed to find and talk to their friends. In particular they wanted to bring Neville into this room and show him his ancestor's journal; they had refused to read it until Neville had a chance to do so himself. Checking the Map and seeing the hallway outside was clear, they left the Room and waited for the door to disappear completely before heading first to the Owlery to post their letters and then down to the Great Hall. They had intentionally timed their entrance toward the very beginning of dinner so that hopefully they could take their seats without drawing too much attention. It seemed to have worked, as only a few people were already in the Hall and they were able to sit down and start fixing themselves plates without being unduly noticed or accosted. Just as they were about to pick up their flatware Neville and Luna showed up, and both Harry and Hermione smiled at seeing that their friends were holding hands as they approached. "Alright there, Neville?" Harry asked as the two blonds sat down across from them.

Neville smiled back at Harry and Hermione. "Pretty damn alright, Harry," he replied, turning to look at Luna. "You?"

"Alright," he replied. "Listen, Nev, when we're done with dinner there's something we'd like you to see. You and Luna both, actually." Both teens on the other side of the table nodded their assent before fixing their own plates.

Dinner proceeded much as Harry and Hermione had expected; they noticed a high number of looks turned Harry's way as the Hall started to fill up, though people were at least careful not to speak so loudly that their gossip could be overheard. All things considered, it was about as good as Harry could have hoped for given how dinner had gone the previous night. The Hall quieted down when Dumbledore stood and approached the podium once again.

"Good evening students," he began. "I wanted to pass out a few announcements before you all go back to your evenings. First, classes tomorrow are cancelled in order to give you all an extra day to catch up after yesterday's tragic happenings. Please use the time wisely to make sure you are prepared for your lessons on Tuesday. Secondly, services for Mr. Weasley will be held later this week at his family's ancestral cemetery in Devonshire. I've been asked to relay to you all the thanks of the Weasley family for the outpouring of sympathy that they've already received both from yourselves and your families, but to let you all know that the services will be private. Those students who have been invited by the family to attend will be notified by myself or Professor McGonagall either this evening or tomorrow and will be exempted from classes the day of the services. Lastly, please note that, until further notice, there will be a permanent Auror presence in the school. Should anything untoward arise, please immediately seek out either one of them or the staff." With that, Dumbledore returned to his seat and dessert appeared on the tables.

As Harry bit into his first forkful of treacle tart a familiar Scottish voice called from behind him. "Mister Potter, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall called. "I've been asked to relay to you that services for Mr. Weasley will be held on Thursday at eleven o'clock. I have a personal note from Molly asking that the both of you Floo to the Burrow after breakfast that morning to spend time with the family."

Harry looked to Hermione, who just nodded sadly. "Thank you, Professor. We sent a letter off with Hedwig earlier, but if you speak to Mrs. Weasley again this evening can you please let her know that I'd like to say something during the funeral?"

McGonagall observed the boy for a moment. Potter had never been one to stand in front of a crowd and orate, though she'd heard many good things about the handling of his 'illegal' defense group the previous year. It was a testament to both his feelings for young Mr. Weasley and the burden he was undertaking that he was going to step so far out of his comfort zone at what promised to be both a very emotional and, likely, politically charged event. Minerva had heard from Molly that the Minister of Magic had invited himself to the services, and she was sure he was going to try and take the opportunity to glad-hand the Boy-Who-Lived again like he had tried to at Christmas. She was very proud of the man Potter was becoming, but could not bring herself to say that in the current company; she had to uphold her image of impartiality in order to maintain discipline. "Very good Mr. Potter. Also, since I would guess both you and Miss Granger will require dress robes, please meet me in the Entrance Hall after breakfast tomorrow and I will escort you down to Hogsmeade so that you may purchase some." With a nod at the students, she turned and walked way.

Feeling recharged after dinner, Harry and Hermione walked with Luna and Neville back up to the Room of Requirement. Luckily it appeared that Malfoy had not managed to make it up there before them, as when Harry asked for the War Room the solid-looking wooden door had once again appeared. Once inside, the two newcomers remarked on the wonder of the configuration before Harry escorted them over to the conference table and the book still sitting at its head. He didn't say anything, simply picking up Caleb's letter and handing it to Neville to read. The teen's face revealed a series of emotions as he read; first shock, then wonder, and finally a smile as he looked down at the book in front of him. He turned a questioning gaze on Harry, who just nodded and clapped the other boy on the shoulder before walking over to Hermione, who had pulled a book off the shelves by the range and was sitting on one of the cushions reading. He grabbed a book of his own from the available choices and took up a position next to her as he opened it, while Luna stayed with Neville as he sat down in the chair at the head of the table and opened the journal to the first page with trembling hands.

Traditionally the Longbottoms had kept journals and records that future generations of the family could peruse but Caleb's, who was arguably Neville's most noted ancestor, had never been found. Until now. The gravity of what he had before him, not just for his family history but for him personally, was not lost on the sixteen-year-old. His father had become an Auror because of Caleb's contributions to England and the world at large; Frank had thought that service to the masses was a worthy life to lead. And when Neville had been working with the DA the previous year, one of his inspirations was the stories that had been passed down about Caleb's prowess as a warrior; it was in his blood somewhere, he just had to figure out how to tap into it. To now have the man's folio in front of him, to be given a chance to read not only about the man's exploits but his thoughts, feelings, and motivations, was more precious to Neville than any gold in any vault. This was his family, his history, and his legacy, and he tore into the pages with abandon as he sought to absorb the life experiences of his several times great-grandfather.

And that was how the night continued until curfew, the only change in positioning coming when Harry and Hermione swapped from the defense books they'd been perusing back to their homework. At that point Luna moved over to join them on the cushions with a book from the shelves, as she didn't have her school books with her. Neville spent the entire time devouring the journal voraciously, and it took all three of the other teens calling to him that it was time to go before he pulled himself out of the world he had delved into. After escorting Luna back to Ravenclaw Tower (Harry and Hermione making sure to give the other two a little privacy to say their goodnights), the three Gryffindors returned to their own Common Room, where Neville immediately took a chair in the corner and continued reading while Harry and Hermione headed up to their respective beds, the long day finally catching up with them.

{-}

Hermione barely kept her scream suppressed when she awoke with a start a few hours later. The nightmare had been very vivid; a bright streak of green light hitting Harry squarely in the chest. His lifeless body collapsing to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Side-by-side gravestones, one for Harry and one for Ron, and her standing there grieving as her world fell even farther into darkness. But it had been the high-pitched laugh, one she had never heard in reality but that Harry had described to her in detail, that had awoken her; Voldemort's laughter.

As the adrenaline left her system Hermione fought hard to get her breathing back under control. She peeled back her curtains and looked around the room, making sure she had not disturbed her dormmates, before laying back down and trying to fall back asleep. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get that laugh out of her head. Finally giving it up as a bad job, she quietly slipped out of bed, donned her dressing gown and slippers, and made her way down to the Common Room. She curled up in one of the big chairs near the fireplace and threw a quilt over herself before opening the book on advanced shield spells she'd gotten from the War Room, but try as she might she kept finding her mind wandering back to her dream, that sickening green spell and that hideous laughter. Eventually she couldn't take it, and stealthily made her way up the stairs to the one person who she felt would understand; after all, he'd experienced those things in dreams as well. Unfortunately, he'd also experienced them in real life.

Slipping through the doorway into the Sixth Year room, she made her way over to the drawn curtains of Harry's bed. Kneeling down beside the bed she started whispering his name through the barrier, hoping that he would hear her. When this failed to gain the attention of her best friend, Hermione pulled the curtain a little aside and peeked her head in. There lay Harry, black hair askew as usual and apparently asleep. She watched him for a moment, taking pleasure in seeing the steady rise and fall of his chest, that tangible reinforcement that he was still alive and by her side. Feeling an even greater need for that, she lifted herself slightly and bent down, placing her head gently upon his chest so that she could hear his heart. Closing her eyes, she savored the sound thumping through her ears as her body rose and fell in time with his.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but she was startled when a hand slid slowly and gently up the side of her torso. Opening her eyes quickly, she looked toward the head of the bed and saw Harry's sleepy eyes half open and looking down at her. Embarrassed at being found in such a state, she started to apologize. "Harry, I –"

Harry, still seemingly mostly asleep, stopped her with a finger to her lips before sliding over and lifting up the covers in invitation. Taking only a second to consider, she shrugged off her dressing gown and slippers and slid into the bed next to him, pulling the curtain closed behind her. Resting her head back against his chest, the soothing feeling granted by the sound of his heart was multiplied by his hand absently running through her thick brown hair. She was already very relaxed when he fell back to sleep completely and soon followed him into the realm of dreams, the comfort of his presence sufficient to keep away the terrors that had plagued her earlier rest.

{-}

The rest of the week up until Thursday passed in a bit of a blur for Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Luna. Neville spent every waking moment that wasn't in class or spending time with Luna consumed by Caleb's journals, but he had still only made it up to the end of his ancestor's Hogwarts career. Luna spent her time as Luna usually did, which meant classes and the Library, with the addition of quality Neville time when both were available. Aside from Monday, when they went with McGonagall to Gladrags to get dress robes, Harry and Hermione spent their spare time in the War Room. Sometimes they worked through memories or the books on the shelves, but in large part they worked on Ron's eulogy. They were having a lot of trouble figuring out what to say; Hermione kept finding famous quotes and trying to play off of those, but Harry was trying to take Caleb's advice about speaking from the heart . . . well, to heart.

One thing Caleb had said in a stored memory had kept rattling around in Harry's brain, and as midnight approached on Wednesday he thought he really had what he wanted to say down. He'd been warned by McGonagall that the Minister and some of his staff were going to be present, so he was also trying to mentally prepare himself to deal with the Ministry the following day. As Harry put the finishing touches on the parchment he had written the final version of his comments on Hermione came quietly back downstairs in her nightclothes, dressing gown, and slippers. After she'd had nightmares on Monday night as well Hermione once again found herself in Harry's bed needing the comfort of his presence in order to sleep through the night. Then the previous night they'd just waited until the rest of the Tower was asleep and then done what they were doing now; forgoing the attempt to sleep separately and just sneaking her up into the boys' dorms. No one was aware of this but Neville, whose only comment was a suggestion to add a localized Silencing Charm and a Sticking Charm to the curtains, the former in case one of them woke up loudly from a nightmare and the latter to prevent anyone from opening the curtains without them knowing. The Invisibility Cloak ensured no one saw her enter or leave and was kept draped over the headboard if needed in a hurry.

Through those days leading up to the funeral neither teen was willing to think beyond the mutual comfort factor that their actions were giving, and though it often crossed both of their minds neither brought up the deeper burgeoning emotions that their almost constant closeness was seeming to engender. And while they'd both realized the increased emotional attachment to each other, neither noticed the seemingly unconscious increase in their physical closeness during their waking hours. Hermione had started automatically weaving her arm through Harry's as they walked the halls; both had started dishing food onto the other's plate at meals; Hermione had taken to leaning up against Harry on the cushions in the War Room or on the couches in the Common Room, and on those occasions Harry's arm would wrap around her protectively. Perhaps in different circumstances they might have considered exactly what their actions would appear like to an outside observer; to them, even had they been aware of it, knowing the other was still there and still close was worth any misunderstandings or gossip with them as the subject that was developing.

Finally Thursday morning arrived. Harry put on the black slacks and shirt that he'd bought before tying the deep silver tie that Hermione had picked out to add just a dash of color while still remaining respectful of the event. The outfit was completed by him donning black formal outer robes, and after making sure his wand and the Cloak were secured in their respective places he made his way down to the Common Room to wait for Hermione. His best friend appeared about 5 minutes later, dressed very similarly to him except that her silver tie was shorter and looped in a scarf style instead of the standard Full-Windsor like Harry's was. Looping her arm through Harry's offered elbow they decided to skip breakfast and made their way to Professor McGonagall's office, where they were going to then Floo to the Burrow. Upon their arrival, their Head of House appraised them quickly before deeming them acceptable and indicating they should make their way through the fireplace.

Harry's first thought as he arrived in the kitchen of the Weasley home a little after 9 o'clock was that he had never heard the house so quiet. He'd always associated the Burrow with a certain vivaciousness, an energy of life and family that felt decidedly absent currently. Arthur, Bill, and one of the Twins (Harry thought it was George) were seated at the kitchen table, heads tilted down looking into cups of tea that, if Harry's guess was correct, had long gone cold. It seemed as if they hadn't even noticed the Floo activate; not knowing what to do Harry walked over to Arthur and placed his hand on the older wizard's shoulder. This broke the man's reverie, and he immediately stood and greeted both newly arrived teens with hugs and calls of welcome. His words brought Molly from another part of the house, and both Harry and Hermione stifled their gasps at the appearance of the Weasley matriarch as she bustled her way to them.

To Harry, Molly Weasley had always radiated as a force of nature. She loved her family fiercely, and that had always showed itself in a number of ways. She was stern. She was short-fused at times, especially when they did something wrong. But she also was quick with a hug and to make sure you had enough to eat. She might not have been Harry's textbook definition of how he would have liked his mother to be, but she was as close to a mother as Harry had and he loved that she always tried to include him when she spoke of her children. She'd raised seven of her own and was under no requirement to accept him as such, but that she had meant more to Harry than he would ever be able to express.

Except now she'd lost one of those seven, and the toll it was taking was readily seen in her. She had deep bags under her red, swollen, and puffy eyes. Her hair, which though she was born a Prewitt had been just as fiery red as if she'd always been a Weasley, seemed to have lost its shine and even greyed some. Though she smiled as she came over and embraced Harry and Hermione, he could easily tell it was a façade that she had erected for their benefit. Even her hug had lost its usual power, like she didn't have either the physical or emotional strength to expend on the endeavor. Though, in typical Molly fashion, she made sure to ask if they wanted anything to eat before making sure the tea on the table was refilled.

"Mrs. Weasley, where's Ginny?" Hermione asked as Harry took a seat next to Bill.

"She's upstairs in her room with Fleur," Molly responded, and with a nod from Harry the young witch made her way to the stairs to check on the youngest Weasley. It was something the two of them had agreed on previously; though Harry had seemed to instinctually know what to do for Hermione over the last few days to help her in her bereavement he was fairly sure that he wouldn't have a clue how to deal with Ginny. She was to be Hermione's charge to keep an eye on, while Harry was going to see if he could start to bring the males of the Weasley clan around.

"Where are Charlie and Fred?" queried Harry to the group that remained in the kitchen; Molly had once again moved back into the living room, where she sat in a rocking chair with something that Harry was unable to identify at that distance.

"They'll be along soon," Bill answered. "There are a lot of family from hither and yon that will be at the service, and they and Percy volunteered to take the first shift of escorting and ushering. George and I will take the next shift at around 10."

Harry nodded as he processed the information Bill had provided before he asked the next in his set of questions. "So Percy has been around?"

"Yeah, he hasn't been staying here but he's been 'round for dinner every night," said George, not looking up from his tea.

Harry frowned but soldiered on. "I hear that the Minister is going to be there today," he commented. Of course he already knew the answer, but he was trying to draw the men into something other than staring at the table blankly.

It was Arthur that responded this time. "Yes, as will a few other Department Heads." The laconic answer truly disturbed Harry, and after several more attempts to spark conversation died he excused himself to go check on Molly. He approached her from the side as she rocked and looked down at what was in her hands, and he cringed as he realized it was her clock, the amazing and, as far as Harry knew, unique device that showed the status of her family, everything from 'Home' to 'Quidditch' to 'Mortal Peril.'

A clock that now had eight hands instead of nine.

Upon seeing that simple yet unmistakable proof that his best friend was gone all the emotions Harry had suppressed in the last few days, everything he had bottled up so that he could take care of Hermione, or deal with classes, or focus on the lessons in the War Room, broke out of their cages with a vengeance. Without realizing he had done it Harry suddenly found himself kneeling in front of Molly, his head in her lap next to the clock as his shoulders shook from his sobs and he whispered, "I'm sorry," over and over again.

Of all the things that might have pulled Molly Weasley from her downward spiral none would have been as effective as this one, seeing one of her children in pain. Here was one of her sons, maybe not her blood but as good as, who needed her now, and she would be damned if she wasn't going to do something about it. She put the clock to the side of the chair and started running her hands through Harry's hair, whispering "It's alright, sweetheart," to him gently as he purged his soul. As his cries continued unabated the rest of the house approached the living room, each bearing witness to the scene before them. Hermione had thundered down the stairs and rushed to Harry's side, laying her head next to his on Molly's lap as her arms curled around him, adding her own tears, support, and soothing words to Molly's. Molly split her attention between both of them, and was soon joined by her husband at her left shoulder, her eldest and his betrothed on her right, and George and Ginny taking places next to their father. Serendipitously, the other three boys arrived at that moment and, saying not a word, filled in the circle around their mother and their siblings she was providing comfort to. Hands found those of the person next to them, or wrapped around shoulders or waists, and for the first time since their tragic loss a mere five days before the entire Weasley family was able to spend a few moments grieving, healing, and drawing strength as one.

* * *

(A/N:

[1] Excerpt from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ by J.K. Rowling, 1997

Sorry for the delay, I was out of town on family business. I've also realized I had some more to interject and so expanded this chapter past what I originally had. As a result, 'The Funeral and The Fallout' will be next chapter.

Though it seems to go against book canon I like the dress code that the movies developed and so have somewhat adopted it here; it's hard to believe that an entire population would run around in nothing but a glorified bathrobe. School robes basically take the place of a prep school blazer for both genders. Weekend dress codes are more relaxed, and similarly dress robes are a more formal; think double-breasted suit jacket versus tweed blazer. Same applies to adults; we all know the wizarding world is sociologically behind the Muggle world, so it would make sense that the adult dress codes leaned more toward those of Pre-World War 1 Britain, where it was almost scandalous to be seen without a jacket (or in our case robe) on.

As always, thanks very much for the views, reviews, follows, and favorites.)


	7. Chapter 7

An hour later found a cleaned up and more settled Harry and Hermione standing near rows of chairs in a building not far from the Burrow. It wasn't a chapel but, with it connected to the Weasley family cemetery, it was obvious what its intended purpose was. His first thought upon arriving was that apparently Arthur and Molly's . . . proliferation . . . was not an aberration for their family; there were a _lot_ of Weasleys, and they all seemed to have come together to see one of their own off to the next great adventure, along with what appeared to be all of the Order of the Phoenix, a few of the professors, some Ministry officials, and various and sundry other friends of the family. Harry also noticed that, despite the volume of red hair in attendance, there were very few as young as the Weasley children he knew. Sure, there were some that looked to be in their late teens, but he only noticed 3 or 4 that were their age or younger out of the, if he had to guess, 90 to 100 people that were there. And he was finding it impossible to keep track of which ones were of what relation to the Weasleys of the Burrow, despite a man who had introduced himself as Arthur's first cousin twice removed Archibald trying to introduce him and Hermione to all of them. All in all, Harry found it quite disorienting.

Despite that, he would gladly have allowed the disorientation to continue if he didn't have to deal with the people who had just approached him, or at least the person in the lead. Right in front of him was Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, flanked on one side by a man that Harry wasn't familiar with and on the other by someone he should have expected to be there but whose presence still caused him a shock; Amos Diggory. Harry hadn't spoken to Amos since the morning after Cedric had died almost two years ago, and the intervening years seemed to have taken their toll on the man. He appeared to have lost at least 2 stone, his ruddiness had morphed into a pallor, and he had shaved off his beard.

"Mister Potter," began Scrimgeour neutrally, no doubt remembering the disaster that was their conversation over Christmas break, "it's wonderful to see you again." He extended his hand and Harry, knowing that he would have to play a little bit of politics in order to get the Ministry's help with his missions, took the Minister's hand and shook it firmly.

"And you, Minister," Harry responded. "Thank you for making the time today to come here and honor my friend Ron."

Harry's positive response seemed to delight Scrimgeour, who moved his second hand to also envelope the one of Harry's he already had a grip on. "A tragedy, indeed, to lose one so young. It's the least the Ministry can do to come out and pay homage. Harry," Rufus continued before Harry could respond, "I believe you are familiar with Amos Diggory," he said, indicating the brown-haired man to his left. Harry extricated his hand from the Minister's and took Diggory's, trying to get a read on the man from his responses. He received a nod but nothing more, and he determined to try and speak to Amos more later as Scrimgeour kept talking. "And this gentleman to my right is Gawain Robards, the Head Auror," he finished, and Harry moved his attention to the middle-aged blonde man in dark robes. His handshake was firm and straightforward, and Harry noticed that his eyes never stopped moving, trying to take in everything and everyone around him.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," Robards said, still not keeping eye contact with Harry, "it's very nice to meet you finally. I've heard through the grapevine that you perhaps have interest in joining the Auror Office. Any truth to that rumor?"

Harry took his hand back and thought about how he should respond. "That's correct sir, it was one of the careers that I mentioned last year during our meetings with Professor McGonagall. Actually, to be honest it was the only job we spoke of. However, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure that I've a firm grasp on what the position really entails." This was a half-truth, but he figured it would do to get a foot in the door. "Perhaps at some point in the near future I might be able to come by the Ministry and speak with you more about it. Minister, as the former Head Auror yourself perhaps you would have additional insight that I may be able to leverage in deciding if a career in the Aurors is right for me."

Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow at the comment, daring not believe his reversal of fortune just yet. "I may indeed, Harry. Always willing to help out the next generation however I can."

Harry just nodded. "And perhaps, just perhaps, we might discuss a few other topics of mutual concern as well." Harry knew his hint had been taken as a wide smile crossed Scrimgeour's face.

"I believe that can be arranged, Harry. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to make a few more pleasantries before the services begin." With that, the three Ministry officials departed and Harry quickly made his way back to Hermione's side, who had been conversing with Fred and George while Harry was speaking with them.

Harry and Hermione had discussed how best to proceed with the Ministry and what might be required. She knew that he wasn't happy to have to play the game but they both knew that, because of (or perhaps despite) Harry's comments of a few nights ago, they were going to need all the help they could get. Harry hated being used, and he had rejected Scrimgeour's overtures at Christmas because that was how it felt he would have been treated had he agreed to those requests then. Now, however, there was mutual gain to be had from aligning with the Minister, and maybe Harry could get a few concessions out of him in exchange for providing some good press. He wasn't particularly pleased with this course, but if it put him on a road that got rid of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and kept Hermione safe, healthy, and happy then he would swallow his indignation and do what needed doing.

"How did it go?" Hermione asked simply when he walked up to the three of them. Her arm unconsciously weaved its way into his. The younger teens didn't notice, but the twins certainly did if their raised eyebrows were any indication. Neither Harry nor Hermione noticed their reaction, however, as they were looking at each other.

"About how we expected," he replied. "I planted the seed; we'll just have to see if anything roots."

The brilliant young witch nodded in response. "I suppose that's a start. Fred and George were just telling me about something interesting," she commented, changing the subject much to Harry's pleasure. "Gents?"

Shaking his head slightly, Fred took the lead in the conversation. "Hermione has been telling us about your little speech in the Great Hall last Saturday, about how you're basically taking on the mantle of Merlin reborn in order to save us all from the evil that currently plagues our great nation."

"That's a bit melodramatic, isn't it?" Harry said.

"I'm sorry, and what exactly was accepting the title of 'the tip of the spear' before strutting out of the Great Hall to complete silence?" Hermione answered him with a smirk.

"Touché," Harry told her, his eyebrows narrowing in mock anger. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Not in this lifetime," she said, squeezing his arm comfortingly.

"Anyway," George interjected, "we think we might have something to help that whole 'kick Death Eater arse' thing along. So you know we've been getting a lot of business from the Ministry for some of the things we've been making; the shield hats and whatnot?" At Harry's nod, he continued. "Well, Dad mentioned to us around Christmas that the Department of Magical Transportation has been getting a lot of requests for Portkeys so that people can try to run away if the Death Eaters come calling. Apparently, there are spells to bring up wards against Apparition and the bad guys can bribe someone to block the Floo at a specific place but protecting against Portkeys requires ward stones and so they aren't able to be defeated by the Death Eaters when they attack a house unless they want to pump magic into them for a few hours so the stones charge. I guess the Ministry has been having a real bear of a time with mishaps with the Portkeys they've been issuing; people just appearing wherever they asked the Portkey to be directed to because people don't really understand their limitations."

Fred picked up the thread. "It seems the root problem is that there are really only two ways of activating a Portkey; either it's set to go off at a specific time or it activates a few seconds after someone touches it. Well, since Death Eaters don't Floo ahead and make an appointment to burn down your house the former really doesn't do a whole lot of good when they show up, and the latter, well, what if your family is spread all over the house? You can't grab it and go into your kids' room; the blasted thing will go off and leave your kids behind."

"So," George followed on, "we thought we would look into other ways to activate one. Maybe a passphrase, or touching it with your wand, or maybe even doing something to it like dousing it in water or some such. But we needed a bunch of them to mess with. And thus, we went to the Portkey Office and did all the paperwork and interviews necessary to be licensed to make Portkeys so we could start experimenting."

"Aren't Portkeys really highly regulated?" Harry asked. "I mean, I remember Fudge giving Dumbledore a talking to when he made one for me after we broke into the Ministry. They don't just let anyone make them or even submit for one, do they?"

Hermione answered his questions before the twins could. "That's all essentially correct, Harry. Very few people outside of the Portkey Office are trained or authorized to make them, and anyone who comes in requesting one has to fill out a permit form and pay a 15 galleon processing fee. I have no idea how much the license to make them is."

"A little under 300 galleons each," Fred responded. "Between brooms, Floos, and Apparition, most people don't bother except for big events or when transporting a bunch of people who can't Apparate somewhere that doesn't have a Floo. Too much hassle. It's just the current climate that has the requests pouring in."

"And you two passed the background check?" Harry asked, surprised that such well-known mischief makers as the Weasley twins would be given that kind of power.

"Surprised the hell out of us too," George said with a chuckle. "I guess sometimes it really is about who you know. Dad being such a well-respected Ministry worker combined with the work we've done for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seems to have given us some credit with the Ministry."

"So let me get this straight," Harry stated. "The Ministry of Magic has given you two hooligans, amongst the greatest pranksters the magical world have ever known, tacit permission to –"

"Yep," George said proudly. "Fred and I are now duly authorized by the Ministry to make Portkeys. Purely for testing purposes, of course."

"Of course," Harry said, not believing a word of it. "So who have you shipped off to where so far?"

"Harry, now what would make you think we would use our newfound powers for evil?" Fred said, looking highly affronted. A look, both Harry and Hermione knew, was purely for show.

"Because I've known you for six years," Harry replied without missing a beat.

"We'll have you know that Lee ending up in Aunt Muriel's bathtub one morning was purely an accident," George said with almost a straight face, but his twinkling eyes gave him away.

"But he promised never to hit on Verity again afterwards, didn't he?" Fred said, and both twins nodded.

"Anyway," Hermione said, bringing them back on topic, "they said they've made a bit of progress in adding the additional activation methods. Right?"

"Oh, yeah, right," George said, momentarily forgetting why this line of conversation had started to begin with. "With some help from the girls," he began, tilting his head to Alicia and Angelina who had taken seats already, "we think we've managed to find the part in the Arithmancy of the _Portus_ spell that controls how it's activated. The problem is that the spell itself is wicked complicated and we never took Arithmancy, and the girls both scraped by with A's on their NEWTs. We were hoping that Hermione could take a look at it for us and see if, between all of us, we can figure out how to tweak that part of the spell to allow additional trigger conditions."

"Just that you've gotten that far is amazing," Hermione commented. "I wonder why no one has thought to work on this before."

"Two reasons," Harry said, turning to his best friend. "One is that Fred and George are two of the most out-of-the-box thinkers that there's ever been. I mean, who else would have thought of the shield hats?" The twins both puffed out their chests at the praise. "Second, you know as well as I do that most wizards are lazy conformist sheep who just enjoy that magic exists and works and don't take the time to analyze it and see if it can be improved on." All three of the others nodded their head in agreement at Harry's blunt and, unfortunately, highly accurate assessment of wizardkind as a whole. "I'm guessing your work thus far is at the shop?" Harry asked the twins, receiving affirmative responses. "Well, we're excused from classes for the entire day. We can pop by before heading back to Hogwarts and take a look if you want, and of course if Hermione wants."

Seeing the excited gleam in Hermione's eyes he knew that she was eager to begin yet another academic venture. Unlike many of her others, though, Harry was eager for this one as well. If she and the twins could get this working it would represent perhaps one of the most important advancements in the fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters that had arisen. Just the idea that a family would no longer be trapped when attacked might make the average witch or wizard more willing to stand up and make their voice heard. At least, Harry could hope that.

Any further conversation was put on hold as Arthur approached the small group. "Boys, Hermione, we're about to get started. Harry, there will be a few quick words by the officiant and then it'll be all yours." Harry just nodded as he and Hermione walked over and took their seats, Harry sitting in between Hermione and Ginny. As an old man with sparse white hair stood at the front of the assemblage, Harry took both girls' hands and squeezed them tightly. Both girls responded with squeezes of their own as the man began to speak.

What was said was completely lost on Harry, so engrossed was he in providing support to the two women with him and preparing himself for what he was about to say, and he was oblivious to the world outside of his little bubble until he heard, "And now, I'd like to invite Ronald's best friend Harry Potter to come up and say a few words." At that, Harry released the girls and stood, smoothing his robes nervously as he approached a podium that sat next to the open coffin that held Ron's mortal remains. When he made it to the front, he looked down and saw his best friend's still body lying in state. It wasn't the first dead person Harry had seen, but it still hit him hard and he had to take a few deep breaths to keep from falling apart right there and then. Steeling his resolve, he turned from the coffin to the people looking at him as he pulled a few pieces of parchment from an inside pocket of his outer robes. Taking one more deep breath, he began to read. They weren't the words of a eulogy; they were the words of his heart, words to and for his departed best friend. The building had been enhanced magically to magnify the voice at the podium, so even though he was speaking at a conversational volume the entire group heard him.

"Dear Ron," Harry began tentatively. Looking over at Hermione, he saw her smile at him encouragingly, and that more than anything else helped to settle his nerves as he continued. "I write this knowing that my words will never reach your ears or eyes, but nonetheless something inside of me believes that you will hear and see every word regardless. I need to start out this letter with a number of apologies to you. The first is that this is probably the longest letter I've ever written you. To me, that is only slightly surpassed by the pain of knowing that it is also the last letter I'll ever write to you. But neither of those is worse than my sorrow that I am now forced to put on paper all of the things that I should have told you in person when you were still here, when they could have buoyed or bolstered you during hard times. I'm sorry that in my negligence toward our brotherhood and cowardice in the face of my own emotions that this ink on this parchment is the way that you have to learn everything I have to tell you. I only hope that my speaking all of this now, when our friends and family will hear it and know that these words come from my heart, will help to pay penance for my transgression. Oh, and if you haven't been able to tell by now, Hermione helped me write parts of this. That's why there are fancy words you've probably never heard me use." This got a small chuckle out of the crowd, and bolstered Harry as he kept reading. And as he read, the congregation in front of him faded into the background as he focused on his words and their true intended audience of one.

"It seems to me that services like this are more for those of us that remain than the ones that we are saying goodbye to. It is our chance to find solace in our unity, to find clarity to continue moving forward in this life while also wishing our loved one the best on their trip to, as a great man once explained it to me, the next great adventure. And, indeed, your passing has done exactly that for me; given me clarity.

"Our world is at war, and it was that war that claimed your life, as it has claimed so many others. However, none of them until yours, not even Sirius's, shook me as they should have, shook _us_ as they should have. I allowed myself to believe, as I'm sure many others have, that this was not my war, or at least not yet my war. I naively believed that since the battles raged in places I could not see that they did not affect me, that they could not hurt me. I keep hearing you ask, only half-jokingly, 'Anyone we know died?' like you would do when one of us would pick up a copy of the _Prophet_. It occurs to me now that it never should have been funny, that I should have burned every one of those names into my brain as a reminder of the cataclysm that was raging outside of my own range of vision. My blindness was an ignorant notion, the thought process of a child, and I was disabused of it in one of the most brutal ways I can imagine; watching a man I call brother pass from this world.

"I don't think I can ever express to you how important you deciding to sit in that carriage on the Express with me was to my life. I was eleven, alone, and without friends or family to speak of. I had spent ten years believing I wasn't worth anything, and had still not grasped onto the concept that an entirely new world was about to be opened up to me. But you came in and asked me if you could sit, and only freaked out a little bit when you figured out who I was. You accepted me from the start, showing me a level of camaraderie that I had never before experienced. Over time, that camaraderie became friendship. And then that friendship became brotherhood. I'm not sure exactly when each transition happened, but I am grateful for each one. Because through them came acceptance and love that I had never had before in my life. I only hope that you feel like I have done enough to repay them in kind.

"Through the last 6 years things have happened to us that I don't think anyone could have ever anticipated; there has been so much crazy stuff that sometimes I have a hard time believing it myself. We faced a troll, a giant 3-headed dog, killer plants, a giant chess set, a crazy teacher who wanted to erase our memories, a murderer who turned out not to be a murderer, a murderer everyone thought was dead but was really your pet rat, another crazy teacher who turned out to not be that teacher but was still crazy, a bigoted government official who liked to torture children, and sociopathic terrorists together. And each time you were there beside me, backing me up not because you had to, not even because it was the right thing to do, but because you were my friend and my brother and you wouldn't let me go into danger by myself. You and the twins even drove a car to Surrey to get me when I was trapped at my relatives' house, tempting what might have been the greatest danger of all; Mum's wrath." Again there were a few short laughs amongst the Weasleys and their friends. Molly looked at Harry and smiled, though the tears had not stopped falling down her cheeks.

"Unlike the unbelievability of our 6 years together, in your death I have found all of the things that I guess one would typically expect to find. I found sadness, like the one you described to me when we all had first encountered a Dementor on the train at the beginning of Third Year. You said that it had felt like you would never be cheerful again, and indeed that was how I too felt when the terrible truth first hit; like your death was my own personal Dementor that would follow me for the rest of my days, clouding everything from that horrible moment forward, trying to suck out my very soul. It was, and is, a sadness that no spell can cast away, that logically I know will fade like a scar in time but right now feels like an anchor around my neck.

"My heart broke five days ago. Not the joking heartbreak that you would talk about when the Cannons would finish last in the league again, but a physical ache worse than any broken bone, Bludger hit, or even a Basilisk bite. It sits in the middle of my chest every moment of every day, tearing at my insides like a cancer. Hermione described it to me like being a glass that falls to the ground, and while a _Reparo_ might bring all of the pieces back together, there's just something about it that isn't quite right. Somehow, something important has been lost; like the whole is no longer equal to the sum of its parts. That's how I feel with you gone; whole physically but spiritually incomplete.

"I can't begin to describe to you how angry I've been. I don't mean angry like you got at Crookshanks when you thought that he'd eaten Scabbers. I don't mean angry like you were at me when you thought I'd put my name in the Goblet. Maybe it'll make you happy, I'm not sure, to know that I was so angry that I, much now to my chagrin, yelled at Professor Dumbledore, at least as bad as I did when Sirius died. I was so angry that, and I _know_ this one will make you happy, I launched McClaggen into a wall. And then a bookshelf fell on him. And I didn't even touch him or take out my wand.

"But more than any external anger, I've been furious with myself. That I didn't throw away those Cakes when I should have. That I took you to Slughorn instead of Madam Pomfrey. That the Bezoar didn't work. That I didn't think to call for Fawkes, who had saved me when I was poisoned. I'm angry with myself that my 'saving-people thing,' as Hermione calls it, wasn't enough to save you." Harry had been doing alright so far, but at this point he had to take a moment to wipe the tears off his face and take a few breaths before he kept reading.

"Nothing will ever make it fully better. Nothing will ever make it right. You're gone, and the world is emptier for it. What you might have done, who you might have been, have faded from this reality like footprints in the sand. But from your loss I take new resolve, drive, and purpose. I wasn't strong enough, smart enough, or capable enough to stop what happened to you, but I will do everything I can to keep it from happening to anyone else. All of those deaths that I let pass by me I will now honor in my heart the best way that I know how. I will fight against the madman and his sycophants who caused this conflict, who caused you and so many others to be taken from this world before your time. I will be who I need to be, do what I need to do, to make sure that your death means something.

"All of that is the result of you being gone. But what I never said, what I should have said while you were still here, was all of the things you mean to me, that now seem to be too little, too late. I should have told you how much you buoyed up my spirits when I was melancholy. I should have told you how much you not believing me about the Goblet hurt, or how relived I was when you realized I was telling the truth. I should have made sure you knew how much I appreciated your friendship, your acceptance, and the intrinsic brotherhood that you offered. You certainly didn't have to, but you did so as if it was the most natural thing in the world, like Harry Potter and Ron Weasley being brothers in everything but blood was somehow a forgone conclusion, stitched upon the Tapestry of Fate.

"I should have thanked you more for the things you taught me about the wizarding world. For showing me how to play wizard's chess. For telling me to watch out for the dirt flavored and worse Bertie Botts. For helping me learn about Quidditch. For starting me collecting Chocolate Frog cards and explaining wizard portraits. For explaining what the hell garden gnomes are and why it's okay to chuck them. For helping to teach me how to use the Floo.

"But what I should have done, more than anything else, was to tell you how much I love you. You are my friend, my confidante, my compatriot, and my brother. You are my family, Ron, and more than anything else in the world I wish you were here right now for me to tell this to you in person. But we've been robbed of you; a life cut short by a war that should never have happened. And so this will have to do for now, until that day, hopefully many years in the future, when I join you in the next great adventure and I can tell you all of this to your face. But until then all I can ask is to say hi to my Mum and my Dad and Sirius for me and save me a seat at the chess board. Goodbye for now, Ron. I love you. Your brother, Harry." Harry folded up the parchments his letter was written on, turned toward the casket, and placed the letter underneath Ron's hands before leaning in and touching his own forehead to Ron's. As he did so, he heard a sound he hadn't expected; a single set of hands clapping slowly. Lifting his head up, he turned toward the sound.

And focused his gaze on the end of the center aisle, right into the madness-filled grey eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.


	8. Chapter 8

(A/N: Sorry/not sorry for those of you I made cry last chapter. It does these old bones good to know that I was able to convey what I was trying to, though what I was trying to convey was sad.

WARNING: There are parts of this chapter that, while not graphic, are disturbing. At least, they disturbed me to write them.

As always, thanks for the views, reviews, follows, and favorites.)

* * *

When one spent nearly all of their free time with Miss Hermione Jean Granger, sixth year Gryffindor prefect at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one naturally did two things more than most other teenagers. The first was spend an inordinate amount of time in the library or otherwise engaged in some intellectual pursuit, especially if said pursuit was related to an upcoming event. The second was you bore witness as one of the greatest magical minds of the age made plans and backup plans and backups for the backup plans. These were just the most recent and currently obvious examples that made Harry thank whatever deity or power of the universe that had brought Hermione into his life and made her such an integral part of his existence.

This thought passed in the blink of an eye to him as he stared down the mad witch that had sent his godfather through the Veil of Death, the witch who was the right hand of the wizard he was destined to either kill or be killed by. She stood at the end of the aisle as casually as could be, her hands clasped in front of her chest from her last clap and a maniacal countenance on her face. "Little Baby Potter all weepy for his dearly departed blood traitor buddy. For a moment I thought I was going to have myself a good cry. Honestly, there may have been tears," she said, wiping non-existent moisture from her cheek with one of her thin and deceptively delicate fingers.

Harry saw a number of the Order members as well as a few other people reach for their wands and knew that he couldn't allow that to happen yet; chances were high a bloodbath would ensue, as Harry was sure Bellatrix wasn't alone. More than likely there were more Death Eaters Disillusioned or under Invisibility Cloaks already in the room. Hell, for all he knew a good number of the attendees were either Polyjuiced or under the _Imperius_ Curse. Still standing at the podium, he yelled "STOP!" His magically magnified voice echoed throughout the building and brought everyone up short as they turned to him.

Plan A, the one where absolutely nothing bad happened today, was officially shot to shit; to be fair both he and Hermione had agreed that the odds of Plan A playing out were pretty slim. Harry prayed that Plan B still held some merit, and also that the information that Plan B was built around was actually correct; the text they had found it in was archaic, but they also hadn't found anything that had refuted or rescinded what it had said. _Please don't let me fuck this up_ he said to himself, though his voice betrayed none of his doubt. "Bellatrix of House Lestrange, you come uninvited, unbidden, and unwelcome during _Dies Ultima_ , the Last Day of the son of a Pureblood house. As a _de facto_ enemy of House Weasley, I demand that you leave these proceedings at once or face judgement before the Wizengamot for violating wizarding law."

"How dare a Half-blood brat try to teach a Pureblood witch about wizarding law?!" Bellatrix screamed at him, apparently incensed at his presumption.

"Harry is quite correct, Bellatrix," Dumbledore said, stepping into the aisle from his spot in the front row. "Last Day is one of the three event days that Pureblood houses in conflict may not vie with each other. The laws have existed since the earliest inceptions of the Wizards' Council, and the penalties can be quite severe." Despite any current disagreement he had with the Headmaster, Harry breathed a sigh of relief that he was there right then, confirming the existence of something that, aside from Hermione and himself, probably only the aged wizard's encyclopedic and seemingly supernatural depth of knowledge knew about. He, like Harry and Hermione, probably also knew that the current detente only existed so long as no one on their side fired a spell, and with both the raw emotions of the funeral and the sheer level of enmity those who followed the light held for Bellatrix it was probably only a matter of time before magic started flying. It was therefore imperative to try and clear the field as quickly as possible.

Harry looked quickly over to the twins while everyone's attention had moved to Dumbledore. Catching their eye, he rolled his eyes over the crowd before making a fist near his navel and pushing it away from his body quickly, as if he were yanking on something tied around his waist. It took a second, but they both got the message and started quickly pulling whatever they could from their pockets. Hermione, catching on to what Harry's intentions were, moved toward the twins in an attempt to assist, as well as shield what they were doing from anyone who may be watching; luckily since nearly the entire congregation was now standing and the twins were in the front row, they were effectively blocked from Bellatrix's line of site. As items came out, one of the teens would transfigure it into a length of rope or some other easily gripped object before either twin would move their wand in a quick motion and whisper an incantation, causing the item in question to briefly glow with a soft blue light. These items were quickly but quietly and surreptitiously being passed back down the rows. Harry knew he had to keep the focus of Bellatrix and anyone else she had brought with her on him in order to give Fred and George time to work, and so stepped down from the podium to stand next to Dumbledore. Moments passed as neither side said anything additional, content to stare each other down like in those old Western movies; the only things missing were a clock tower striking noon and some tumbleweeds. The delay suited Harry just fine; the longer this little contest lasted the more people would be out of danger when things went pear-shaped.

The older wizard spared a quick glance to his side, years spent caring for the nation's children in general and caring about this one in particular making his first thought that he should tell Harry to get back. He fought that initial instinct, though, by remembering his failures of the last week especially and also the words this boy had said both five days ago and today. _No_ Albus thought to himself, _in age perhaps still a teen but no longer a boy. This is his fight now, too; if I were being honest with myself it's always been his._ Despite the fear he felt at the potential ramifications of his actions, he smiled slightly as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry Potter.

Hermione was desperately running possible scenarios through her head as the Weasley twins kept creating Portkeys and passing them out. She had silently cast a _Homenum Revelio_ and discovered no less than 12 additional hidden people; she had no doubt that any Order members capable of doing so had already done the same. She saw Remus and Tonks in a quick conversation before turning back-to-back with Kingsley, each covering a potential sector of fire. Gawain Robards had Scrimgeour still seated and was scanning the room in earnest, no doubt seeing the same thing Hermione was. Most of the extended Weasley clan, however, stood mouth agog at what was transpiring, not knowing what to do, only barely acknowledging when a random article was stuffed in their hand or one of their fingers wrapped around a piece of rope that was passed up and down the aisle. Hopefully the Portkeys would solve the room's population problem.

Never in her thought process did Hermione entertain the idea of taking one of the Portkeys for herself, and the reason for that had stepped down from the small dais at the front of the room and was standing next to Professor Dumbledore, staring down the most dangerous witch in Britain. Harry was the most important person, the most important _anything_ , to her, and she would follow through with her promise to stand with him, to take on all obstacles by his side. That didn't mean she wasn't scared to death, though. Especially when Harry looked over to George, who almost imperceptibly mouthed 'forty-five' to him, before Harry nodded and then looked at her with a small smile that she wasn't quite sure the meaning of. She found out soon enough, though, as he turned back to Bellatrix and started talking again.

"So where is your lord and master, Bellatrix? I'm surprised he let you so far off your leash after you and Lucius Malfoy failed so spectacularly last year."

"Oh, I'm sure my Lord will be along shortly; he promised to let me have a little fun before he arrived and once again showed the world his true power." Her eyes gleamed in reflection of the psychotic sycophancy she held for the Dark Lord.

"And what power might that be?" Harry asked. "Lies? Manipulations? Failure? It occurs to me that, in the four or five times I've met Voldemort not once has he actually won."

"You dare speak his name!" she shrieked, murderous intent obvious in her tone as her wand flew into her hand. Luckily, no one on their side took action as it stayed pointed at the floor.

Harry was now desperately counting down in his head, his drawn wand hidden in his arms crossed over his chest. "What, you don't like when I say Voldemort?" Bellatrix's left eye twitched.

 _10_.

"I guess I can understand that."

 _8._

"I mean, I guess if I took the time to make up a silly name like Voldemort I wouldn't want people to use it either." Her brows furrowed as her temper was near to overflowing.

 _4_.

"VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT!" Harry yelled, distracting the Death Eater as the Portkeys around the room activated along with a number of Disapparitions, driving the population down from near 100 to now less than 20. It was a good thing, too, because as the non-combatants disappeared Bellatrix raised her wand and sent a Reductor Curse at Harry. He batted it away with a quickly incanted " _Protego_ " before he and Dumbledore broke toward opposite sides of the aisle, the older wizard moving toward the Minister of Magic and Harry headed straight toward Hermione, who had begun Transfiguring chairs into solid barricades that they could hide behind. She ducked down, and Harry slid into the hastily built fortress after her, as the rest of the Death Eaters revealed themselves by throwing curses at the Order members and a few others that remained. "Well, Plan B is a bust," he said with a half smile/half grimace as pieces of the stone walls Hermione had built chipped away and landed on them.

"You have a stunning grasp of the obvious, Harry," she retorted as she peeked her head slightly over the top of their defenses before popping up, firing a brace of Cutting Curses toward a now visible target in Death Eater regalia who was taking on Fred and George, and quickly crouching back down beside her best friend.

"Hey, we can't all be bloody geniuses," Harry stated as he leaned around the side of their den, took aim, and managed to hit a target in the leg with a Reductor Curse. As he came back behind cover, he was surprised to find that he wasn't the least bit bothered at the moment by the screams he heard from his downed opponent, or knowing he was the cause of those screams.

Caleb's lessons on the need to be brutal in combat came flooding back to him, and as he took 2 seconds to contemplate his feelings he thought he finally understood where the war mage had been coming from. _"There is need sometimes,"_ one of the lessons had said, _"to be merciful in battle. Sometimes those moments are obvious; sometimes not so much. However, your prevailing thought in any encounter should always be the continued survival of yourself, your comrades, and the innocent. Should you face an enemy who wishes your demise, this should always be at the forefront of your mind. Defeat your enemy by any means necessary, using whatever tools and talents you have at your disposal. Do not fret overmuch about honor, fair play, or even, at times, legality. Your first mission in any battle is to make it to the end. If that requires you to become a monster in the eyes of others then so be it; at least you will be a monster that returns to your loved ones to be made a person again._

"Stop woolgathering," Hermione admonished when she saw his eyes go slightly out of focus, "there's work to be done." He looked at her and smiled; both knew that the banter was just one of their coping mechanisms for the bone-chilling fear both were currently experiencing. She looked back and smiled quickly before cringing as another chunk of their walls gave way. "We can't stay here. Plan D?" He nodded and, with a look to Hermione to see that she was ready, they both crouched on the balls of their feet while again peeking over what remained of their stone wall.

The room had devolved into an elegant pandemonium. It looked like Dumbledore had taken a page from Hermione's book and Transfigured a large amount of material into defensive barricades, while also converting some into animals who would try to harass the Death Eaters. Bellatrix and 4 other opponents appeared to be working on those defenses, as well as Dumbledore, Scrimgeour, Diggory, and Robards who stood behind them. Towards their left, Fred and George were doing a passable job of keeping another Death Eater occupied, though no advantage appeared to be being gained by either side. Mad-Eye appeared to be holding two off by himself, however two prone figures near his feet indicated that at least some of their side was incapacitated or dead. Molly had Apparated away with a struggling Ginny at the beginning of the fight, but Arthur, Bill, and Fleur stood back-to-back like Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley as each group took on 3 Death Eaters of their own. Charlie and Percy rounded out the remaining fighters, those two Transfiguring defenses and casting Shield Charms repeatedly to protect a small group of people who hadn't managed to Portkey out and didn't appear to be able to Apparate.

Suddenly, there was a flourish to their left, and a frighteningly familiar curse like a purple flame flew toward the two teens. Both flung up Shield Charms to stop it as a large, well-built man with dark hair and a pale face emerged from underneath an invisibility cloak with a sneer on his lips. Both teens recognized him immediately; Antonin Dolohov, the man who had almost ended Hermione's life in the Department of Mysteries less than a year previous.

"You're that little slut I almost did in last June, aren't you?" he said with a lecherous look at Hermione that made Harry want to beat the man's face in with his bare hands. "Glad I didn't; that's a right fine arse you've got there. Would be a waste not to get some use out of it before sending you off. I'll bet you'll like it. You'll like me breaking you in before I break your spirit. I bet you'd love to slobber –"

They never heard how that statement was going to finish, as a streak of blue light shot towards him from Hermione's wand. A _Protego_ stopped the bolt but staggered the man back a step. Harry understood in an instant where the force behind that curse came from. This man had hurt Hermione, almost killed her, would have killed her had she not hobbled his ability cast at full power before he struck. But it was still a point of contention within the young witch. She'd been bested, and at no point since he'd met her those years ago was that ever something that Hermione Granger would take sitting down.

More than that, though, he knew she was scared. That curse was the closest she had ever come to dying, and it had taken time for her confidence in herself and her abilities to build back up. She needed to prove to herself that she wasn't a victim; that she was up to the challenge that she and Harry had chosen to undertake. And it started here, with exorcising this particular demon. Harry kept his wand up and his eyes alert, ready to assist his best friend if she needed it but realizing she needed this in order to move forward.

"You want first crack at that snatch, Potter?" Dolohov stated derisively as he regained his footing, obviously trying to enrage Hermione by not only ignoring her but objectifying her. "Tell you what; we'll take turns, how's that sound?" Another bright blue spell left Hermione's wand in response, and again the older wizard was forced to take a step back from the force of the impact. Harry, however, kept his mouth shut. "That response seems a bit telling. Already had a taste of the goods, boy?" A third Reductor from Hermione was dodged, but Dolohov still had to put up a shield to protect against the Cutting Curse which flew in on its heels. "Oooh, a feisty one. I like it when they fight."

"Then you're going to love this," Hermione said before a long stream of spells flew from the angry witch's wand toward her opponent.

"Always let your bitches do your dirty work for you, Potter?" the Death Eater exclaimed, though if he was honest with himself he was being hard pressed by the witch in front of him. He wasn't sure what he would do if Potter also joined the fray.

Harry, however much he might be itching to jump in and help Hermione, continued scanning the rest of the room to both protect her and offer assistance elsewhere if needed. "I learned a long time ago not to get in Hermione's way when she sets her mind to something. Apparently her mind is currently set at showing you what happens when you make a brilliant witch angry."

As if to exemplify the point, an _Incendio_ from Hermione caught Dolohov in the lower leg and, as he pitched off balance from the shock of suddenly being on fire, a spell Harry didn't know made the man's knees reverse direction, causing him to collapse upon them. A Finger-removing Jinx saw the man's wand drop to the ground, and a _Langlock_ prevented any further bile spewing from the man's mouth. She walked over to the man and stomped on the wand, breaking in into several pieces. "Was that good for you?" she asked in a sweet voice, though Harry could see her trembling. "Must have been; you're speechless. Maybe a nap will help," she finished, before a Stunner hit the man in the face and he collapsed to the ground. Ropes shot from her wand and wrapped around him, ensuring he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Harry really wanted to run to Hermione and engulf her in a hug, however circumstances wouldn't currently permit that. Looking over at the mad firefights still taking place in the room, he knew what their next step needed to be. Pointing at Fred and George, a nod from Hermione saw the two of them launching simultaneous Stunners, one high and one low, that caught the Death Eater the older teens were fighting unawares and knocked them out of the fight for now. Harry hurried over to the twins while more ropes sprung from Hermione's wand.

"Boys, we need to get the rest of the people out of here and then split ourselves. Let's make our way over to Charlie and Percy. We'll cover you while you make the rest of the Portkeys." Acknowledgements quickly came from them, and the four teens scampered their way across to the second- and third-born Weasley sons. They plus Hermione and Harry formed a small perimeter around the terrified group, while Fred and George Summoned some debris from around them in order to create more Portkeys. Several agonizing moments later saw that the only people left in the building were combatants.

"We're clear! Time to go!" Harry yelled to the group at large. "You four, go," Harry commanded the Weasley boys he was with.

Fred looked like he was going to argue for a second, before nodding. "All the Portkeys went to the Burrow. Be right behind us, or Mum will have our arses," he stated before turning on the spot and disappearing with a _crack_ , as did the other three. Hermione, predictably, stayed right by his side. They watched Arthur, Bill, and Fleur, who seemed to have defeated their foes, also Disapparate. The other two groups were still too involved in their fights to risk Apparition, but they both saw Mad-Eye stomp over to them with blood falling profusely from a wide gash on his forehead.

"Diggle and Doge are both dead," he said matter-of-factly, pointing out the two bodies the teens had seen earlier. The grizzled veteran looked over at the two remaining fights, obviously taking stock of what was still going on. "I'll help out Lupin and them, get yourselves over to Albus so we can get the hell out of here." A nod from the teens had the group split once again, spells shooting from all three wands as they re-entered the battle.

As the teens dove into the cover created by the Headmaster, they made a quick assessment of the situation. All three Ministry wizards were injured in some fashion, but Diggory's arm, mangled almost beyond recognition as a body part, identified him as the most seriously wounded. One Death Eater also appeared to be down, making four opponents still standing against the group. "Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, breathing heavily but still performing brilliantly despite his age and his damaged wand hand, "could I trouble you reinforce the barriers? Once Amos went down I haven't had the chance to do so." Hermione acknowledged him immediately and began supplementing Dumbledore's work with her own transfigurations, repairing the spots on the walls that had been heavily damaged by enemy spellfire.

"Professor, we need to go," Harry said, checking for any other wounds on the unconscious Diggory. "Everyone but us, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Kingsley have left."

Dumbledore nodded but continued his work against Bellatrix and her remaining forces. "Rufus, do you think you could take Amos? I don't believe my students are ready to try leading a Side-Along Apparition yet." A nod from the Minister had the two men popping away, Harry and Hermione trying to make up the difference in firepower losing the former Head Auror caused.

Harry and Hermione had just succeeded in making the odds 4 to 3 in their favor when Harry suddenly dropped down behind the barricades, his hand immediately moving up to his forehead. "Goddamnit," he growled as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. "Plan F, Hermione," he managed to grind out through clenched teeth, and Hermione groaned.

Plan F. For 'Fucked.' With a capital F.

"Professor: he's here. Voldemort's here."

Harry had barely gotten the words out before the door to the building crashed open and a black-clad Lord Voldemort appeared in the doorway. All casting stopped as the Death Eaters retreated to rally around their leader. The forces of the light did likewise, collecting loosely along the bottom of the dais. There were 8 remaining defenders against Voldemort, Bellatrix, and 4 remaining Death Eaters. Against the likes of Riddle and Lestrange, however, numerical advantage did not necessarily equate to tactical advantage.

"Anti-Disapparition Jinx is up," Robards said as they gathered. "We're stuck."

"Where the fuck are your Aurors?" Mad-Eye growled at the remaining Ministry man.

"Oh, I'm afraid that's my doing," Voldemort replied without the barest hint of apology in his voice. "You see, I couldn't have them coming to interfere, so I had to give them something else to worry about. Apparently a massive explosion at the Tower of London supersedes a disturbance at a blood traitor's funeral. Speaking of . . ." A Summoning Charm from the Dark Lord had Ron's casket flying away from the podium and over toward the Death Eaters. Dumbledore, mid-way through trying to create a Portkey, stopped dead in his tracks as Harry stepped in front of the rest of the group.

"Touch him and I'll fucking kill you," Harry said in the most deathly calm voice anyone had ever heard from him. Despite the calm voice, everyone around him could feel the change in the atmosphere as Harry's magic began to permeate the air around them.

"But Harry, surely you're heartbroken at the loss of your friend," Riddle said in a sickly sweet voice. "I'm merely granting you your wish. Don't you want to embrace this pathetic excuse for a wizard again?" Blue bolts sailed from both his and Hermione's wands but to no avail; Bellatrix and the remaining Death Eaters blocked every spell sent their way as the Dark Lord's wand moved in a complicated pattern over Ron's body.

"No. Oh please God no," Hermione sobbed, having a terrible sensation deep in her chest regarding what was about to happen.

"Tom, stop this at once," Dumbledore commanded, but even the legendary wizard was powerless to prevent what happened next.

Voldemort finished whatever he was casting and looked back over at the group. "Hmmm? I'm sorry I was preoccupied. But look; there's someone who wants to say hello," he finished with a grin worthy of the devil as a hand latched onto the side of the casket. A second later Hermione's fears were realized in full.

Voldemort had turned Ron into an Inferius.

The soulless animation of dark magic rose out of the casket like some macabre puppet, dead cataracted eyes turning towards the group at the head of the room, a group now too stunned to do much else but watch on in horror. All but one.

"That is not my brother."

Harry Potter stood in the center aisle, the animated corpse of his best friend 20 meters away and closing, Voldemort about 5 meters behind it with that evil smile still plastered on his face as his followers laughed. Any pain Harry might still be feeling for being in the proximity of Voldemort had been erased by the renewed rush of adrenalin running through his system and the feel of his magic begging to be let free, to strike out in righteous fury against the abomination that had defiled Ron's remains. He knew Voldemort had done this to torture him, to torture all of them really. Inferi were already one of the most terrifying of the Dark Lord's weapons, and being faced with a loved one who had been turned into one likely was responsible for more than a few witches and wizards falling during the last war. Despite knowing logically that the Inferius was no longer the person you once knew, was just a husk defiled by some sick twisted bastard, seeing their countenance, the dead eyes, the feral mouth wanting nothing more than to tear at living flesh, was enough to shock even the sturdiest person into a stupor. Tom had done this to hurt him, to break him, to erase his hope. Harry couldn't, wouldn't, let the son of a bitch win.

Harry had to be ruthless. He had to be brutal. As Caleb had said, he had to become a monster in the eyes of his enemies, and hope and pray that his friends could help make him a person again. Hope and pray that his friends would _want_ to help make him a person again after what he was about to do.

"That is not my brother." The repeated mantra helped to bury the growing disgust and self-loathing that had already welled up within him. Tears of anguish were rolling down his cheeks but there also was no mistaking his anger; it literally rolled off of him in waves, pushing the remaining chairs back away from him. He was suddenly glad no Weasleys remained in the building to see what had become of Ron's body, or to see what he was about to do. _I'm so sorry, Ron_ he thought to himself as his wand came up. " _Incendio,"_ he whispered, and his spell flew true through the space between him and the Inferius, hitting it center mass. It immediately caught on fire, but Harry wasn't done yet. " _Depulso,"_ he said, and the Banishing Charm sent the flaming mass back at an unsuspecting Dark Lord, whose eyes widened in shock at the unexpected turn of events. It was exactly the reaction Harry had been hoping for; shock led to poor reaction time. Just as the projectile reached Voldemort, Harry incanted the final spell in his plan.

 _Please forgive me._

" _Confringo."_

The Blasting Curse caused the Inferius to explode, shooting flaming organic shrapnel into Harry's enemies. Two of the remaining Death Eaters immediately went down, their lifeblood leaking from multiple mortal wounds. The others, including Voldemort, had managed to put up shields, but not soon enough to prevent all of them from receiving at least minor wounds.

None of them were smiling or laughing anymore.

In fact, no one was doing anything on either side, too consumed by what had just taken place.

"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," Harry stated, confusing everyone with his choice of comment. His magic was now buffeting the robes of the people in the room and the walls had begun to shake.

"What the fuck are you on about, Potter?" Bellatrix said as she recovered the power of speech.

Harry focused his attention on the witch, his green eyes alight with power as his currently tenuous grasp on his magic started to break down even more. "What do you think happens when you poke a sleeping dragon?" Harry asked, smiling slightly at the dumbfounded look on Lestranges's face. He wasn't properly translating the Hogwarts motto, but at this point he was too angry to care. "It wakes up," Harry said simply in answer to his own question. "Rot in hell, bitch. _Reducto!"_ Harry yelled, and a sky blue spell almost too bright to behold streaked from Harry's wand. Bellatrix put up yet another shield, but it wasn't enough; it could have been a concrete wall a meter thick and it wouldn't have been enough. Harry's spell tore through the shield like tissue paper, and an instant later Bellatrix Lestrange ceased to exist, the center of her chest vaporized by the severely overpowered Reductor Curse. "That was for Sirius. Now do us all a favor and just FUCKING DIE!" he screamed, and in response his magic surged forward, throwing the already dead witch's body back against the wall with a sickening crunch before it settled in a heap on the floor.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_ yelled Voldemort, and the sickly green spell flew toward Harry.

"NO!" yelled Hermione as the shouted curse woke her from shock of what she'd just witnessed. She started toward Harry, but she knew she wouldn't be fast enough to reach him in time, especially after Remus grabbed her to keep her from getting in the line of fire, though there were tears in the werewolf's eyes as he also watched the Killing Curse race toward Harry.

The spell closed on Harry seemingly in slow motion. Fifteen meters. Ten. Five. As it came within a meter of him there was a spectacular light show as Harry's magic converged around the ball of light and appeared to squeeze, almost seeming to crush the spell out of existence. Harry looked down calmly to where this was happening before speaking again in a soft, even voice.

"Bellatrix killed my godfather. A man I barely knew but loved nonetheless. She has paid the price for her transgression." Harry then turned his gaze on Voldemort and, though the man formerly known as Tom Riddle would never admit it, with that glance the Dark Lord felt something he thought he'd long left behind.

Fear.

"You killed my mum and dad. Caused my childhood to be empty of love and filled with starvation and abuse. You've tried to kill me I'm not sure how many times. You've tortured me. You almost cost a girl I am very fond of her life in the Chamber of Secrets. One of your minions at Hogwarts supplied the poison that killed my brother before you turned his body into a crime against nature." Harry's even voice broke as his question for the Dark Lord was said with a growl.

"What do you think I'm going to do to you?"

The sounds of multiple Apparitions outside the door announced the arrival of reinforcements. Rufus Scrimgeour thrust open the door, a dozen Aurors behind him, but came up short as he saw the Dark Lord. Voldemort took the opportunity caused by the new arrivals' shock to drop the Anti-Disapparition Jinx around the building before turning on the spot and disappearing with a loud _crack_. His remaining two Death Eaters followed suit before anyone could stop them.

As soon as the threat was gone, Harry collapsed onto his hands and knees before hoarsely whispering, "Hermione. Help." Everyone could see him trembling.

The young witch threw off Remus's hold before sprinting to her best friend, landing beside him and taking him in her arms. She kissed his temple and felt an almost scalding heat coming from his scar. "I'm here, Harry. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

The rest of the party advanced towards the duo, but no one could get within a meter of them; Harry's magic would shock anyone who tried to. It took a few moments for everyone to realize that the walls were still shaking. "Professor," Harry croaked out, trying to glance over at Dumbledore. The aged wizard was astounded to see that Harry's scar had darkened to such a deep red to be almost black, and seemed to be trying to burst open. "Professor . . . you need to get everyone out. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold it."

"Hold what, Harry?" Remus queried.

"I . . .," he gasped as a sudden jolt of pain shot through him before trying again, "I'm not sure. But I feel it. In here," he tapped his now bleeding scar, "and here," he said, then tapping his chest. "It's . . . dark . . . evil . . . malignant . . . and it wants out."

Albus Dumbledore paled as Harry described what he was feeling. He'd suspected since that terrible night in 1981 that there might be more to Harry's scar than met the eye. As his research had led him farther down the road toward the discovery of Voldemort's Horcruxes, he had become more and more convinced that somehow Harry had become one the night he banished the Dark Lord. That theory had been reinforced by Harry's reactions to the presence of Voldemort, most deeply exemplified by the events of the previous school year. Harry's explanation of what he was now fighting could really only mean one thing. Harry had poured his anger and his hatred of Voldemort and his Death Eaters into his magic, and it had responded in a way that defied belief; it had made him very powerful. Unfortunately, his already unstable emotional state since the death of young Mr. Weasley, combined with his heavy release of magic, meant that the Horcrux had awakened, and was now trying to either possess Harry, taking control of his body and his not inconsiderable magic, or it was trying to drain him as it had tried to drain Ginny Weasley in the Chamber of Secrets. Either way, Harry was now locked into a battle for his body, his mind, his magic, and his immortal soul, against a piece of magic created using some of the most heinous acts of malevolence ever conceived and by one of the most evil wizards that had ever lived. And, from the sounds of it, he was losing.

"Minister, please pull your Aurors back," Albus said to Scrimgeour, and he also signaled the rest of his own group to make their way away. Remus, however, was not to be moved, standing beside Dumbledore as the balance of people left through the doors, levitating the disabled and the dead with them. Dumbledore quickly cast a spell to ensure their privacy before he dropped to his knees as close to Harry as he could; Hermione was still the only one that seemed to be permitted through whatever barricade Harry's magic had erected. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I've kept things from you, and once again you must pay the price for my misdeeds." Tears were running down the old wizard's face as he continued. "Your scar is a Horcrux, Harry. A piece of Voldemort's soul detached from the whole to grant him immortality. The diary was one as well, and you know what it tried to do." Harry turned his gaze on Albus, and the look of betrayal and anger there almost broke the old man's heart.

"What do we do, Professor?" Hermione asked as she tightened her embrace around Harry, her anger at Dumbledore also rising as she began to understand what was likely happening to the man she held.

"I don't know what we can do," Dumbledore admitted. "I've long believed that Harry's power against Voldemort is his ability to love, but even that might not be enough."

"Get out," Harry said through clenched teeth, and both adults were terrified to see flecks of red in Harry's bright green eyes. "GET OUT!" He screamed, before burying his head in Hermione's chest. The shaking of the walls and ceiling worsened; a catastrophic failure was imminent.

Albus stood slowly, his head bowed. He looked to Hermione, seeing a matching look of loathing to the one he had gotten from Harry a few moments ago. "Miss Granger, his only chance is to overcome his negative emotions, which are being increased by the Horcrux, with even greater feelings of love. If Harry loses, the Horcrux will consume him. _You must not let that happen_ ," he finished firmly, the intimation in his statement clear. If it looked like the Horcrux was about to win, he expected Hermione to kill Harry.

"I think you've lost any say in what happens next, sir," Hermione said with an acidic tone before moving her head next to Harry's, one of her hands moving to run through his hair. Dumbledore nodded sadly before walking toward the exit, defeated in more ways than one. Remus, however, stood fast as he beheld the two teens. Hermione looked back up at him and smiled slightly. "I'll take care of him, Professor. Harry won't hurt me, but you need to go. Meet us at Grimmauld Place later," she said, the 'if we survive this' left unsaid. Remus tried to reach out one more time, but caught himself before following Dumbledore out of the building.

It becoming just the two of them left behind seemed to exacerbate Harry's pain. He collapsed onto his side and put both hands over his face, his fingers curling as it seemed like he was trying to rip his scar off of his head with his bare hands. Hermione tried her best to help, but the physical and mental pain was beyond imagination; Harry felt like his mind was being shredded like so much spent parchment. Blood that was too viscous and nearly black was pouring from Harry's scar at an alarming rate. Harry opened his mouth as if to scream, but he was in so much pain that he couldn't; he couldn't even seem to remember to breathe. His entire world revolved around the pain he was in and the terror of knowing that he was slowly being consumed by the evil that had attached itself to him as a baby.

That was until Hermione finally found herself. Terrified of what was happening to her best friend but determined that she was not going to give up, she took Harry's head in her hands and forced Harry to look her in the eyes. As had happened so many times recently, bright green met brilliant brown as she began to speak. What was left of Harry's psyche was amused that she was speaking in perhaps the bossiest tone he had ever heard from her; that was saying something. "Harry James Potter, I know you are still in there, so it's time to listen. You must fight. You must continue on for those you love and who love you in return. You know even the ones that aren't with us anymore are watching, Harry. You know they are, and they want you to fight. They need you to fight. _I_ need you to fight. Think of us now, Harry. Think of the Weasleys. Of Ron. Of Sirius. Of your parents." The amusement hiding within his minutely lightening pain increased as he saw her blush. "Of me. I love you; with all my heart and soul I love you, Harry. Allow the joy of that love to fill you, to give you strength. And know that love, that all of our love, is, was, and will always be eternal." As Hermione spoke, flashes of his loved ones came into Harry's mind.

The photo from the album Hagrid had given him of his mother and father smiling and laughing as they danced on their wedding day. They were so in love, and he knew in the depths of his soul that they'd loved him just as fiercely. That they _still_ loved him just as fiercely.

Sirius smiling as he strolled through Grimmauld Place singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs. The man had gone through nearly half his lifetime enduring unbelievable torture at the hands of the Dementors, but just knowing that Harry would be with him on Christmas had filled him with the holiday spirit. Sirius had wanted them to be family, something that Harry had spent a very long time searching for and had only begun to understand when he'd first met the man, but Sirius had offered it to Harry without condition or reservation because of his love for his godson.

Laughing to the point of tears with Ron over yet another exploding cauldron courtesy of Seamus Finnegan. In triumph or failure, and regardless of the state of their relationship at the time, Harry knew Ron had always had his back when he'd needed him. As he'd said in his letter, he loved Ron as a brother and knew, despite it never having been said, that he was loved as a brother in return.

Hermione, her wild brown hair flying behind her as she leapt into his arms after she had been un-petrified, and his arms wrapping around her in joy at her return. He had felt so lost with her gone, and what he'd felt inside upon seeing her whole again lifted his spirits even now, years removed.

Hermione's arms wrapped tightly around him as the two of them rode Buckbeak up to the window of the room where Sirius waited to be rescued. Despite the severity of their task and the difficulties they had endured that night, the feel of her pressed tightly against his back was still one of his preferred Patronus memories as well as the subject of some of his more lurid dreams.

Another of Hermione as he first saw her at the Yule Ball fourth year. His jaw dropping at the sight of her, hair tamed and dressed in those periwinkle robes that somehow simultaneously hinted at, accentuated, and hid her burgeoning femininity.

A fourth vision of the young witch as she kissed him quickly on the cheek as they left King's Cross after the train ride home that same year. His hand had subconsciously reached up to touch the spot where her lips had been just a moment before as he fought the goosebumps that suddenly erupted.

A final image from just recently, of the mesmerizing look in Hermione's eyes as she'd first said the words he'd longed his whole life to hear: 'I love you.'

Through all of his adventures, through all of his mistakes and missteps, Hermione had stood by him. She was his compass, his guiding star, the person he depended on most and the person he most wanted to make proud. In that moment a thought struck Harry like the proverbial bolt of lightning, burning through the torturous pain that was wracking his body and mind. _Oh Merlin, I'm in trouble. I'm in love with Hermione_ Harry thought to himself. He allowed the idea that he not only loved but was _in love_ with her to fill his thoughts, and as this new and wonderfully terrifying concept crossed his mind he felt the pain lessen, felt the burning that had threatened to consume him reduce to embers as a voice thankfully not his own screamed in agony in his mind. He was turning the tide. Because of her.

He took a deep breath for the first time in what seemed like minutes and felt the cool cleansing air once again fill his lungs. His eyes closed as his magic collapsed in on the two of them, his pulling Hermione's with it as it concentrated on his scar. She felt the tug and welcomed it, willing to give anything and everything if it would help the man she held in her arms. Her best friend. Her truest companion. The man she now realized she had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with. She wasn't sure when it had happened, but the reality of it hit her with the same force that it had hit Harry, and she cried in both grief and joy as she willingly gave of herself to help him win this fight, pouring her own magic into him to augment his own. She would _not_ lose him.

Horcruxes are objects of the utmost evil, their creation requiring a mortal sin to be committed. Under normal circumstances, the destruction of a Horcrux requires the damage of the chosen vessel to such a point as it cannot repair itself or be considered the object it once was any longer. In the case of living Horcruxes, the only known method of destruction was the death of the being carrying it. This instance being a battle of minds and magic more than a physical confrontation allowed Harry, with Hermione's help, to circumvent the vessel and attack the cargo within.

Harry focused on the love he felt for her, as she did on hers for him, and together their combined efforts pushed the Horcrux out. As they did so, Harry's scar burst open spectacularly, though thankfully little additional blood came forth. What did emerge, however, was a greenish-black mist, which briefly tried to take on a humanoid shape before their combined magics once again began their assault, small bolts of lightning continually pressing the fog on all sides as it compressed the piece of Voldemort smaller and smaller, eventually collapsing it in to nothingness as had been done to the bolt of the Killing Curse earlier. Just before it blinked out of existence it let out a horrific scream, which died abruptly with a soft _pop_ as it was destroyed for good.

The shaking of the walls and ceiling stopped, and the two teens laid there panting from the exertion, a not inconsiderable amount of Harry's blood soaking into his robes and running onto the floor from his opened scar. Despite that, he was feeling better than he had in his entire life, and it was thanks to the lovely young witch who was currently sobbing into his shoulder as she gripped the front of his robes for dear life. She looked up at him with her tears falling before putting one hand behind his head, pulling him forward, and hungrily locking her lips to his.

The two stayed this way for several minutes, lips moving against each other's as they shared their first kiss. Hermione's hand stayed locked on his neck while his hand ran repeatedly through her thick hair, knotting it even more than the battle had already managed to. As they slowly released each other after a series of quick follow-up pecks of their lips, his eyes finally opened again to behold her. Her clothes were dusty, dirty, and torn. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were puffy from crying. _Dear God, she's beautiful_ he thought.

"Is it me?" Harry asked, a look of consternation on his face.

"What?" Hermione responded, her brain scrambled from everything that had happened in the last 30 minutes and especially the last 3, the ones where she'd learned what Harry's lips tasted like. Harry looked concerned, and that immediately put her back on alert, fretful about what else they might have to deal with today.

"Well," he began, and his brow furrowed, "it's just that, I've kissed two girls. And both times, they've been crying. Is it me? Am I really that bad at it?" The smirk on his face was bright and playful as he finished his query.

Hermione tried to look menacingly at him but she just couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. "You're an arsehole," she finally got out.

"Maybe," he replied. "But you still love me."

She smiled before leaning down and kissing him again. "I do. I really do."

"I love you too," he said with a smile, and her eyes shone with happiness. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"This has been brilliant, and I really want to continue, but can you keep it in your pants long enough for me to get my head looked at?"

"Yep. You're definitely an arsehole."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I know, I know, this took forever. I suck and I'm sorry. Holidays plus everything else made it difficult to write.

* * *

Remus caught up to Dumbledore just as he made it to the safe zone that the Aurors had established around the still trembling building. Uncaring about the elder wizard's age or how much deference he should show, he grabbed Dumbledore's elbow and fiercely spun him so that they were face to face. "What they hell was that in there, Albus?" Remus growled, his nature showing itself in his tone. Normally he fought letting the more animalistic side of his disease affect him, but at present he welcomed it as it allowed him to be as angry as he was while still remaining focused; the wolf was very good at that. He wanted answers to what was happening to Harry, his last link to the best friends he'd ever had. And he was going to get them, one way or the other.

Dumbledore, for his part, looked for all the world like a defeated man; his shoulders hunched, his face pale and the tears evident in his eyes. Where normally stood a wizard still powerful in the twilight of his life, now he felt only like an old fool too stuck in his ways to change. And, he believed, it was exceedingly likely that it was going to cost them everything. "I'm afraid I've made yet another terrible mistake," he said, unable to meet the werewolf's gaze.

"No fucking shit, Albus," Remus ground out through gritted teeth. "What was all that you talked about in there? What is happening to Harry?"

Albus merely shook his head. "Not here, Remus, please. Too many ears nearby."

Lupin stared hard at the Headmaster, and only Tonks approaching the two of them kept him from taking the conversation any further. "I made a promise a long time ago to James and Lily that I would protect that young man in there. I failed him when he was younger, too caught up in my own grief and pain to be any good to anyone. I will _not_ fail him again." Remus released Dumbledore's elbow and stormed off, Tonks following behind him to try and figure out what had the man she had fallen in love with so angry. She watched him walk behind a nearby mausoleum, and when she turned the corner she stopped dead as she saw him ram his fist into the marble building while crying out in what could only be described as utter frustration. She rushed over to him as he collapsed onto his knees, cradling his almost certainly broken hand as tears ran down his face. She wrapped her arms around him from behind as he cried, not knowing what else to do other than hold him.

After a few minutes Remus was able to get himself back under control. He rested his good hand on Tonks's, which were latched onto each other around his neck, and nuzzled himself into the elbow of her left arm as he took in her scent. The woman smiled; it was the most affection he had ever shown her, and it did something wonderful to her insides to have him take comfort in her embrace. Hating to do it, she pulled her hands back before drawing her wand and incanting several healing spells over Remus's broken hand. "That should help. I'm no Poppy Pomfrey, but hopefully that'll square you away until you can see a proper Healer."

He turned and smiled at her, his newly healed hand coming up and resting on her cheek. "Thank you, Dora," he whispered. He knew Tonks was harboring strong feelings for him; she had made her pursuit of him very clear. For his part, Remus had tried for a few months now to fight the feelings he reciprocally had for the beautiful young Auror, coming up with excuse after excuse why she shouldn't pursue him; their age difference, his inability to hold a job in the wizarding world because his condition was known, and his condition in general being the top three he had used. However, at that moment, with his emotions in shambles and his faith in Dumbledore and their mission hanging by a thread, he didn't have the strength to fight it anymore. Ignoring the setting, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in while at the same time drawing Tonks forward with the hand on her cheek. As their lips met, there was a moment of shock for the Metamorphmagus before she growled in appreciation while wrapping her arms around his neck and returning his kiss with fervor.

They were so caught up in each other that it was only by sheer chance that they simultaneously realized that the ground had stopped shaking. Both knew that could be a good thing or a very, very bad thing, and as one rose and ran back toward the hall where they had left Harry and Hermione. As they approached, both let out a breath of relief seeing that the building was still standing, though the two teens were yet to be seen. "Do you think they're okay?" Tonks asked no one in particular.

"We'll know soon enough," Dumbledore responded, fingering the Elder Wand and hoping that it would not be needed. He had no idea if Harry had been able to fight off the Horcrux, and that left the question of exactly who would be walking out of the building. He wanted to believe, in the deepest places of his heart, that Harry had been able to triumph, but he could not afford hope at the moment if there was even the slightest chance it proved false. There was no way that Britain could survive Voldemort and a Horcrux-possessed Harry Potter both trying to lay siege to the country. As the doors opened, the elder wizard tensed, silently wishing beyond all things that this day did not become any more horrible than it already had been.

"Harry!" Remus yelled, seeing the blood that was running down his face and that had soaked into his clothes from his still weeping scar. He was being supported by Hermione, his hand around her shoulders while both of hers were wrapped around his waist as the two of them walked unsteadily out of the doors. Both he and Tonks rushed forward, Remus coming up on Harry's other side to help while Tonks supported a very nearly drained Hermione. Together the four of them limped their way back into the safe zone as the remaining Order members and Aurors could only look on in amazement. Robards had briefed the Minister and his Aurors on what had happened after Scrimgeour had evacuated with a severely wounded Diggory, and with the death of Bellatrix Lestrange and a sound defeat of Lord Voldemort the legend of Harry Potter, probably much to the young man's later chagrin, had once again grown.

As the foursome approached, Dumbledore walked over, taking stock of the young man before him to see if he had been corrupted or if his silent and sincere prayers had indeed been answered. Harry looked up and saw Albus, and the older man smiled a very genuine smile in seeing that this was indeed still the young man he had come to care for. The young man that was their best hope at bringing an end to this conflict.

The young man whose right hand had just connected solidly with Dumbledore's jaw, sending the headmaster to the ground in a heap. Despite his exhaustion, Harry stood over the felled man, fists clenched in anger as he stared daggers at the man he had just caught with a wild haymaker. Everyone again felt Harry's unfocused magic surge around them, and wands were gripped in caution, not really knowing what was going to happen next.

Hermione's soothing hand on his arm caused the impending maelstrom to quiet, and Harry closed his eyes as he took several deep breaths, mindless that his scar continued to bleed down the side of his face. When his eyes once again opened, he bore his gaze down at Dumbledore and spoke. "I thought after last June that we had gone past this, Albus. I thought, after you revealed what should have been told to me years ago, after telling me things that might have prevented Sirius's death during that debacle at the Department of Mysteries, that there was an unspoken understanding between us. That you would stop keeping secrets about _my life_ from me. That you would respect me enough to tell me the truth about the things that I need to know, and then help me figure out how best to move forward.

"But you just keep up the same old shit; holding onto your secrets, watching over your board and figuring out where best to position your pieces. Didn't you think it was important that I know about what you told me in there? Didn't you think, after everything I've been through, after everything I've had to endure, that I _deserved_ to know? Didn't you think that it was my _right_ to know?" As Albus tried to open his mouth to speak, Harry put up his hand in the universal sign to stop. "I know what you're going to say. That you didn't want to burden me. That you were searching for an answer. That you were afraid that it may get back to Voldemort. That you care about me too much to see me struggle with yet another in the long line of shitacular things that have defined my life up to this point." Harry took a knee to be on the same level as Dumbledore. "You chose wrong. You should have trusted me. You should have believed in me, the same way that I, and everyone else here, trust and believe in you. Yes, it was a terrible truth, and yes it would have hurt me. But not nearly as much as the betrayal I felt when you chose to reveal it only at the moment when you could no longer keep it hidden from me, when once again my life literally hung in the balance because of information you withheld from me."

Harry once again stood, leaning against Hermione both for comfort and for strength. "We are going to the Burrow to let Mum and everyone else know we're okay, and I'm going to get my head cleaned up, and then Hermione and I are leaving. Please don't ask where because I don't even think we know yet; I just know that I can't be at Hogwarts and I can't be near you right now. We will return to the school on Sunday evening, Headmaster. That is not up for debate. Please let the teachers know so that they can have our classmates write down any assignments for us, and let Neville and Luna know as well so that they know not to worry. And then, when I get back . . . there's a reckoning to be had between you and I, Albus Dumbledore. We are going to sit down and go over anything else that you may have been keeping from me. Again, not up for debate."

Harry closed his eyes and again took a deep breath. "When I'm calm again I'm sure I'll forgive you, as I've forgiven all of your previous lies of omission. I'm also sure that I'll feel incredibly bad that I'm the cause of you laying there. I understand the seemingly impossible positions you feel you are constantly being put in; if anyone here understands that, you know I do. And I know you care about me and are trying to keep me safe, and God help me but I care about you too much to stay mad forever. But that is _not_ now; right now I'm having a very hard time keeping it to only the one punch. Think on your sins, Albus, and then we'll talk." Turning to Hermione, the two of them walked over toward the Minister of Magic, Remus and Tonks keeping a careful but respectful distance behind them, ready to assist if the teens needed them again.

Moody limped over and with a few waves of his wand healed the worst of Albus's likely broken jaw before fixing his real eye on Dumbledore. "I'm not sure what you did to that boy, Albus, but if I were you I'd fix it quick. I've never seen anything like what happened in there, and you know as well as I do that Potter is our best hope to end this thing." Albus could only nod as he saw Harry walk up to the Minister of Magic.

Twenty meters away, Harry and Hermione had just reached Scrimgeour and Robards. "Minister, Head Auror, I was hoping that I could throw myself on your mercies and request some leniency for all of the underage magic that I used so far today. I believe I could make a good case for the self-defense exemption." True to form, Hermione had freaked out earlier when she realized how many times Harry had broken the Reasonable Restriction on Underage Sorcery, in front of 3 Ministry officials no less. This was Harry's attempt to allay her fears that he'd be tossed in front of the Wizengamot again like he had been 2 years ago, though he really doubted that would happen.

His doubts were confirmed as Gawain just chuckled in response to his statement. "If I may, Minister?" he asked, getting a head nod from the former Head Auror. "Mister Potter, I believe that we can consider everything that happened this morning both self-defense and defense of innocents. I'll square everything away with the Improper Use of Magic Office. There will also be no charges related to the death of Bellatrix Lestrange, or any of the other Death Eaters who were killed today, nor for the . . . incident . . . that just occurred with the Chief Warlock. Heat of the moment and all that.

"On a personal note, that was probably the best spellwork I've ever seen from someone your age, from both of you," Robards continued, indicating Hermione as well. "If, after all of this is over, you still want to be an Auror, I'd be a fool not to sponsor you at the Academy." Both teens smiled at the praise before Scrimgeour took over the conversation.

"I have to agree with Gawain, on all counts, and I hope that we can still move forward with our agenda from before all of . . . this . . . started."

"Speaking of 'all of this,'" Harry began, "On behalf of the Weasley family I'd like to file charges against House Lestrange, House Dolohov, and the families of any other Death Eaters that were captured or killed today. They violated the truce of Last Day, and should be punished appropriately for it."

The Minister thought for a moment before responding. "I'll have to look up the relevant laws in the Archives to confirm your accusation, Harry. But if it holds up believe me I will put them before the Wizengamot and extract every piece of retribution that can legally be placed on them." Harry nodded in agreement, and the Minister smiled. "Alright. Let Peterson over there get you healed up and we'll set up a time for you to come by the Ministry in the next couple of weeks."

Bases covered, Harry allowed the Healer to clean, close, and dress his scar, before being handed a Pain Relief Potion, a mild Invigoration Draught, and a salve to apply to the scar to help with healing and instructions on how to use it. Pleased to get away from a Healer without a stay in a hospital bed, Harry and Hermione turned toward Remus and Tonks, who had taken up unofficial sentry duty over the teens. With very few words exchanged, the four of them Apparated back to the Burrow, where a large crowd of Weasleys was gathered in the back garden. Upon hearing the cracks of their arrival, Molly hurried through the throng of people, Ginny and Arthur hot on her heels.

Seeing the three of them, with obvious smiles of relief on their faces, reignited the guilt and shame that Harry had ruthlessly suppressed in order to do what needed to be done. His hand dropped out of Hermione's as he started stepping backward and she turned to him, a confused look on her face as to why his hands had come up to his mouth like he was trying to keep from vomiting. The three approaching Weasleys also slowed, not quite understanding what was going on.

"Oh my God," the three closest to him heard through his hands. "Oh my God, oh my god, oh my God, what did I do?" He looked around frantically, as if searching for an escape. "I . . . I can't . . . I . . ." was all he managed to get out before he turned and sprinted away toward the pond at the edge of the property.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, the light bulb going off in her head about what was wrong. "Remus, can you . . . ?" she asked, indicating the approaching Weasleys.

Remus nodded. "We'll explain everything. Go help him." A quick nod of affirmation and thanks and Hermione took off after Harry, while Remus and Tonks turned back toward Molly, Arthur, and Ginny.

Harry ran as fast as he could, the normally soothing fields and woods of the Burrow's property a blur as he sped past and through them, though he wouldn't have noticed them even had he been moving at a more sedate pace. His mind was consumed with the images of what had happened; Ron rising as an Inferius; the animated body stalking towards him; his _Incendio_ igniting before he utterly destroyed the mortal remains of his best mate. _How will I face them again?_ his mind screamed. _How could they possibly forgive me for what I've done? There's not even a body left to bury now!_ He ran faster as the muscles in his legs began to burn, welcoming the pain and hoping that it would somehow distract him from his revulsion and self-loathing at his actions in the cemetery.

When finally his legs could carry him no more, when his lungs burned from his exertions, he collapsed along the shore of the far side of the pond from the Burrow. He tried to crawl on his hands and knees to continue his escape, but he'd only made it a short distance before his stomach rebelled and he began retching and dry heaving on the ground. When his body had finally concluded there was nothing to bring up he tried again to crawl but found that his limbs no longer had the strength to carry him. Betrayed by his own body once more he collapsed onto his side in the fetal position before releasing a long, loud, primal scream of torment, his throat tearing at itself as it tried to release in sound all of the agony that Harry was feeling. When he had yelled himself hoarse he resorted to simply sobbing, unable to move and unable to think.

After an interminable amount of time Harry's senses began to return to him, and as he recognized that his heart was still beating and his lungs were still drawing air, his senses also recognized that he wasn't alone. Sensory nerves for touch felt a warm, definitely feminine body pressed tightly against his back, a delicate hand was running itself up and down his arm, and another person's warm breath was tickling the hairs near his ear. His sense of smell detected the delectable floral scent that he now associated with his best friend, and his hearing finally began to absorb the words being spoken to him in Hermione's soft, lilting timbre. "You did what needed to be done, Harry. There's no shame in that. We all understand, and we all still love you. I still love you. Please come back to me, let me help you find your way out of the dark. Together, Harry, remember? We'll get through all of this together."

Harry turned and engulfed her in his arms, needing her closeness to settle him. She stroked a hand through his hair as he squeezed her tightly for a few moments before pulling his head back to look at her smiling at him. "Are you okay to head back now?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not yet. I don't think I can deal with it right now. Sometime this weekend, but for now . . . now I just want to get away."

Hermione's 'thinking face' came up for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth before settling on him again. "Okay. I have an idea. Up." Slowly both teens rose to their feet. "Hang on, it's going to take a couple of jumps to get there." Realizing they were about to Apparate, Harry held onto her arm tightly as the uncomfortable compressive feeling of magical travel overcame him. They appeared in what looked to be an alley in some city Harry did not recognize, but before he could ask where they were they were off again and then once more, finally landing in someone's bedroom. Soft blue walls matched the duvet on the bed against the far wall, and Harry took in a large desk and several well-organized bookshelves. Cognition came over Harry as he took in the room.

"Hermione, are we –"

"Welcome to the Granger home," Hermione answered simply. "Follow me." Taking hold of his hand once more, she pulled him out of the room and across the hall into a large bathroom. A jetted bathtub big enough to fit two and a good-sized walk-in shower stall ran the length of the far wall. The room was tiled in different shades of grey but still seemed bright and inviting. Hermione turned to face Harry and slid his disheveled robes off of his shoulders, throwing them back into the hallway. She then turned to the shower and started the water. "Alright, Harry," she said as she opened the door to a linen closet and pulled out a flannel and towel, "go ahead and get out of those clothes and throw them in the hall with your robes. I'll put them in the wash while you get cleaned up. I'm going to call Mum and Dad and let them know we're here so they don't freak when they get home." Seeing his slightly overwhelmed look she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips, which seemed to bring his concentration back around, at least for the moment. "Shower," she said faux-commandingly, before walking out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the hallway phone. Dialing the number for her parents' clinic, it was picked up on the second ring.

"Thank you for calling Granger Dental Care, this is Melinda. How may I help you?" said a pleasant voice on the other end.

"Hi Melinda, it's Hermione."

"Hermione!" came the enthusiastic response. "How are you dear?"

Not wanting to alarm the sweet woman who ran reception at her parents' office, she replied simply "I'm fine. Is my Mum or Dad available?"

"Hold on, sweetie, I'll go check."

Standard hold music came across the speaker for a minute or two before a voice Hermione would know anywhere came on the other end. "Hermione? Is that really you sweetheart? Why aren't you at school?"

"It's a long story Mum, and it involves Ron's passing that I told you about in my last letter."

A sound that may have been a vague affirmation came across the line. "Simply terrible to use one so young. I'm so sorry love."

"Listen, Mum, I don't want to keep you, but I wanted to let you and Dad know that Harry and I are at the house so that you don't go spare if you get home and see lights on."

"Harry's with you? Hermione, what's going on?"

Hermione sighed. "It's too much to go into over the phone Mum; sufficed to say it's been a very bad day already. I'm okay, well, as okay as I can be, but there's a lot to tell you, and Harry's kind of in bad shape emotionally."

"Alright, Hermione, we'll pick this up when we get home. Dad and I both have appointments at 4:00, but we'll head home as soon as we can after. Do you want us to pick up something for dinner?"

"That would be great, Mum. Neither of us had breakfast before the service and I'm not sure if we're going to be in the mood for lunch."

"Hermione . . . ?" came the questioning voice.

"Like I said, Mum, it's a long story, but we're fine for the most part."

"As long as you're sure, dear," came the reply, though her tone was anything but sure about her daughter's response.

"I'm sure, Mum. I'll see you guys tonight."

"Alright, sweetheart. I love you."

"Love you too Mum. Bye." Hermione hung up the phone and made her way back upstairs, frowning when she saw that Harry had not heeded her words and thrown his dirty clothes in the hall. Knocking softly on the bathroom door and getting no response, she carefully pushed the door open and peeked inside. Seeing Harry sitting on the commode with his head in his hands, she made her way the rest of the way into the room and knelt down in front of him. She replaced his hands with her own and lifted his face up to meet hers. He seemed almost in a daze, as if he'd been subjected to a powerful Confundus Charm.

Steeling her nerve and gathering her Gryffindor courage, she slid her hands down and began untying his shoes, removing them and his socks before standing and pulling Harry to his feet. He finally came somewhat back to reality when she was three buttons into undoing his shirt. "Hermione, what are you doing?" he asked as he looked down at her.

"Well I'm certainly not having you get in the shower with your clothes on," she said simply as her slightly trembling hands continued down his shirt, more and more of his lean but well-defined chest being bared to her view as she went about her work. She finally got all of the buttons undone before sliding her hands up his torso in order to slip the shirt off his shoulders. Harry shivered at her touch, his mind whirring with the situation he found himself in.

"Hermione –"

A finger came up to his lips to stop him from continuing. "Do you trust me, Harry?" He nodded instead of having her remove her finger. "Are you sure you love me?" In response, he brought his hand up and gently caressed her cheek with the back of his knuckles, catching her with a glance that left no question as to his feelings. "That's what this is, Harry. This isn't sex. This is love. I understand how you're feeling, and I am hearing Caleb's words just as I'm pretty sure you are. I will tell you right now that you are _not_ a monster, but even if you were I would still be here to put you back together. I love you, and I want to help you. You just need to let me." Hermione removed her finger from his lips and slipped his dress shirt the rest of the way off before moving her hands down to undo his belt.

As her hands worked at his waist, Harry's went into motion, sliding up past hers to undo her tie before undoing the top button of her blouse. Her eyes shot up to his, and both felt their pulses rise as they continued staring at each other as the remainder of each's outer clothing was discarded, leaving both in nothing but their underwear. Eyes still locked, Hermione moved her hands to her back and undid the clasp of her bra before dropping the undergarment to the floor. Harry sat down on the lid of the toilet and slid his hands down her sides, touching just the very edges of her ample chest, before hooking his fingers under her knickers and sliding them down her legs. She stepped out of them and then reversed their position, taking a seat and sliding his pants down, careful to avoid his very evident arousal. With them now both completely nude, she took his hand and led him toward the now steaming shower.

What followed was not a sexual but a sensual experience, two best friends on the cusp of becoming lovers, but not yet ready to take that step, reveling in the closeness that they shared. She lathered shampoo into his hair, finding out that he loved having her massage his scalp with her nails while she did so. He returned the favor, noting her groan of appreciation as he used his hands and fingers to carefully work the knots out of her tangled mane. She worked the flannel over his trim muscles, spending only slightly more time at his manhood than she did at any other spot on his body. For Hermione, no apology from Harry was necessary as he perhaps soaped and rinsed her breasts longer than was strictly necessary, and for drawing his hands repeatedly over her shapely and well-proportioned bum as he washed her back. The relatively light petting, along with a few sweet kisses, was the extent of their shower escapades. At the end, neither was breathing heavily or in danger of losing themselves to lust, but both certainly felt the need to allow their excitement to ebb as they toweled off. Still, the experience left them both in a better mindset and feeling of a much deeper connection between them.

The two teens walked back across the hall to Hermione's bedroom, where she dressed in fresh Muggle clothes from her chest of drawers. She opened the bottom drawer before pulling out a pair of sweatpants and tossing them to Harry. "Those are a bit big on me. You have longer legs but narrower hips, so they should fit you just fine. And I'm sorry, I love you but I'm not giving you a pair of my knickers to wear." She smiled and Harry chuckled as he sat on the edge of her bed and slid on them on. She then tossed him a long-sleeved t-shirt that proclaimed the wearer 'Property of Cambridge' before she went back over to the bathroom, collected both sets of discarded clothes, and led Harry downstairs.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her as they proceeded into the kitchen, Hermione on her way to the laundry room in the back.

"No, not really. I'd like a glass of ice water, though. The glasses are to the left of the sink," she replied before using her wand to cast a few _Tergeo_ and _Scourgify_ spells on their clothes. Having removed the worst remains of the day's battles, she put the outer robes on the floor and the rest of the clothes in the washer before starting the cycle. Returning to the kitchen, she accepted the glass of water from Harry with a word of thanks before leading him to the sitting room. Taking a spot on the couch, she patted the cushion next to her for him to join her. He did so, his own glass of water in hand. They sat in silence for several long minutes, neither knowing what to speak about after not only the events of the morning but what had happened since they'd left on their own.

Finally putting his glass down, Harry turned toward his best friend. "Hermione, can I ask you something? It might sound . . . well, horrible, but I really need to ask it."

"Harry, you know you can ask me anything, and I'll always make sure that I try my best to understand where you're coming from before I answer."

"Alright, here goes," Harry said, drawing in a deep breath. Deciding to just rip off the scab, he went with the direct approach. "What is this? What's going on with you and me? Is this because of Ron, or could this have always been in the cards? I know that I've cared for you for a long time, and I've loved you probably longer than I think I have. But . . . would you have kissed me if Ron were still here?"

Hermione sat back, giving Harry's questions honest thought before responding. "I think . . . I think for a while now, I've been in love with two men. Both had their benefits, and both had their flaws. One was a hero, a man who wanted nothing more than to be normal even though that was never going to happen. The other was the opposite; a normal man who wanted to be the hero of someone's story. I saw the appeal in both, as did others, and both became my very dearest friends.

"I've . . . well, I've had a fancy for you for several years now, Harry," she admitted with a blush. "When you and I worked together before the First Task, I reveled in the sensation of feeling needed by someone, of feeling someone wanted me in their presence. I enjoyed our alone time and the trust and faith you kept in me. That just grew into more as time went by. But after the letters from all of those horrid people after they thought you and I were together, I got scared. I was afraid of flying too close to the Sun, of those letters continuing on and getting worse. I imagined what it would be like for you and I to try and walk down Diagon Alley together, and all I heard in my head were jeers and jibes about how you should ditch the Mudblood because she was unworthy of the Boy Who Lived. About how I must have caught you with a Love Potion because there was no way the savior of the wizarding world would ever be with someone like me. I didn't know if I would be able to deal with all of that, and so I buried what was growing inside of me for you away, contenting myself that we would always be best friends.

"And Ron . . . well, Ron was simpler. Yes, he aggravated me more, but he was also quicker to make me laugh. There was no danger with Ron, no fear of backlash. I'm not saying that I considered anything that might happen between Ron and I 'settling,' that's absolutely not what I felt. But I guess it was that something with Ron would be unassuming, uncomplicated, and not subject to front page headlines.

"I realize now that I've loved you both; as a friend, as a kind of surrogate sister, and as that something more that crosses the line from 'loving someone' to 'being in love.' I just . . . I didn't want to make either of our lives more complicated or dangerous than they already are. Somewhere that I'm not really ready to admit to, I acknowledged that I could be with Ron and still love you, and while it would be painful we could find an equilibrium. But you and I both know that Ron would have had a lot of trouble accepting that dynamic, and it might cost both of us his friendship. I've always known how much Ron meant to you, and I couldn't be the cause of that kind of hurt for you. I care about you too much. Being with me, even now but especially then, will cause sensation and worse, and I know that's not what you want. You want a simple life, one free of speculation and scandal. You want to love someone and build a family that you can be proud of. And I want you to have everything you want, Harry."

Hermione turned her head away from Harry and stared at the far side of the room, trying desperately to get control of all the thoughts and emotions that were swirling through her mind. Harry also spent time trying to come to grips with everything he was feeling as well as everything that Hermione had just said. He could understand her viewpoint and appreciated that she had been willing to bury anything more than friendship she might feel out of a protective instinct toward him.

As he continued through his thoughts, he came to the conclusion that things were different now; that _he_ was different now. Before he had wanted just to disappear into the crowd, to not be stared at like some sideshow attraction for something that he only remembered in his nightmares. Now . . . now he had picked up the gauntlet. He had declared to Hogwarts in words, to Voldemort in actions, and to himself by his promises, that he was taking up the mantle of what the rest of the world had always believed him to be but that he himself had never felt he deserved. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. A savior. He would not shy away from nor be afraid of it any longer.

But in order to be those things, he knew he needed Hermione. Not because she was brilliant, though she certainly was. Not because she was capable, though again she had proved that many times in spades. He realized that he needed her because she really was his purpose. His goal. His promise. His home. His family. She was his focus and his reason for going on now. He would defend all of his friends with his life if necessary. But for Hermione . . . for her he would tear down the foundations of the world and rebuild them with his bare hands, if only to see her smile.

Lifting his hand, he gently took her chin in his fingers and turned her face back toward him. "What I want," he said, slowly drawing her toward him, "is you." His lips met hers and they both felt as if they were engulfed in fire. Hermione whimpered in pleasure as the sensations consumed her and she was pushed back flat on the couch before Harry settled himself over her, his mouth never leaving hers. Over the next few minutes hands roamed over clothes and occasionally under as their lips met and moved against each other in the age-old dance. Mouths hungry for the other's body sometimes locked on the delicate skin of their partner's neck, or parted to allow teeth to gently nip on sensitive spots and cause excited gasps from their target. And, dispersed throughout, were repeated many times the words both longed to hear from the other; "I love you."

Both settled after a time, soft pecks replacing fervid kisses, hands settling comfortably around each other as opposed to grasping wantonly at aroused flesh. They adjusted themselves on the couch, Hermione resting her head peacefully on Harry's chest, snuggling herself into his embrace. With a soft kiss to the top of her head, the two eventually drifted off to sleep, the extreme amounts of both emotion and magic they had used so far that day leading them into slumber.

* * *

A/N: I was not much older than Hermione is at this point in the story (less than a year difference) when I had almost the exact same experience as 'the shower scene' above. We considered ourselves 'only' friends at that point but became an item not long afterward for a short time before parting, and remain close friends to this day. I count it as one of the most inspiring, educational, sensual, and comforting experiences of my life, and is probably in my top 5 Patronus memories.

I'm not sure if I'm doing justice at articulating Hermione's reasoning or mindset with regard to her feelings for Ron and Harry. Anyone else who has ever been in love with more than person at the same time can probably attest that it is a very complicated thing to explain sometimes.

As always, thanks for you favorites, follows, views, and reviews.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: M For safety, folks.

Enter obligatory "I don't own this IP and am not making money off of this" statement here.

* * *

"NEVILLE!" Luna called out for the third time. It took a lot to get the almost disturbingly even-keeled girl to raise her voice or sometimes, even more disturbingly to those around her, show any kind of emotion at all, but two things at the moment were vexing her greatly. The first was that, while she and Neville seemed to be making some tentative progress in the days since the start of their burgeoning romance, he'd also become obsessed with the journal of his long-departed ancestor, reading it at every opportunity. She'd heard stories from Gryffindor Tower that he was almost constantly walking into people or furniture when he was in the Common Room, so focused on the folio was he. Seamus had even teased Neville about taking it to the loo with him. She didn't begrudge him his curiosity or his desire to learn (she _was_ a Ravenclaw after all), but it had caused him to miss quite a bit of what was actually going on around him. For example, the previous day she'd caught him a hair's breadth from plummeting to what would have likely been his death when he had been reading while walking down the Grand Staircase and hadn't seen the stairs shift position. This closely tied in with the second thing that was troubling her, however, for he had missed the fact that Professor Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts with a very troubled look on his face but without Harry and Hermione.

"Wha . . . huh? What's up, Luna?" Neville asked as he raised his head from the journal sitting on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

"Professor Dumbledore just came back into the castle, but Harry and Hermione weren't with him," the Ravenclaw responded.

Neville tilted his head curiously as he turned toward the doorway into the Entrance Hall. "Maybe they're with the Weasleys. They were asked to go early; maybe they're staying for the wake too." Seemingly satisfied with the answer, he turned his eyes back down toward the no-longer-lost piece of Longbottom history.

Sublimating her agitation at her boyfriend (which wouldn't have been an issue before her 'awakening,' as Harry, Hermione, and Neville had taken to calling it), Luna contemplated the perfectly reasonable, if troublingly dismissive, response Neville had given. She still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off though, and she shook her head. "No. No, something's wrong. Come on," she said, grabbing the boy's hand as she stood from the table, which caused him to squawk in protest and reach his other hand out desperately to grab the journal as she pulled him out of the Great Hall. They hurried to try and catch the headmaster before he disappeared behind the gargoyle guardian of his office. For a man over 110 Dumbledore moved quite quickly, and it wasn't until they were in the last hallway before his office that they caught up to him. "Professor! Professor!" Luna called out, and the Headmaster turned to behold the two students who were quick-stepping to catch up to him. Dumbledore did his best to put on a benevolent smile but his heart just wasn't in it, and Luna caught it in an instant. "Sir, what's happened? What's wrong?"

His smile immediately faltered as he looked at them. "Please, upstairs," the older man said. "It's been a very long day so far, and I could do with a sit down and perhaps a cup of tea." He turned again to approach the stone sentinel and, after a whispered password and a quick jaunt up the revolving staircase, the three of them were seated in the Headmaster's Office with a tea service between them. After a few calming sips of the very strong tea, Albus sighed and then looked upon the two students. "Most of this will likely be in the _Prophet_ in the morning so I don't feel too bad telling you now, though I'd ask you to keep it just between yourselves until tomorrow. However, since Harry specifically asked me to speak with the two of you I feel it best if you heard as much as possible from me." Albus took a deep breath and plunged in. "Let me begin by saying that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger were physically none the worse for wear the last time I saw them."

"Physically?" Neville asked with his head slightly cocked, immediately catching the qualifier. "What about the rest of them?"

"That's . . . a bit more complicated," the Headmaster replied, and began to relay the story of the day so far, from Harry's stirring eulogy, through the battle, pausing slightly at their horrified and tearful expressions when he told of how Ron Weasley's body had been turned into an Inferius, before continuing up until Voldemort's eventual withdrawal from the battlefield, intentionally skipping the events that took place afterward as well as not going beyond "Harry was forced to destroy the Inferius" in describing that rather gruesome scene . As he finished, he took another fortifying drink from his cup while Luna and Neville processed everything that had just been said. "Mr. Longbottom, if you'd like you may use my Floo to contact your grandmother. I'm sure she would appreciate knowing that Bellatrix and Rabastan Lestrange are both dead."

Neville could only nod his head slightly as he struggled to come to grips with the events of the day. The (what he considered) joyful knowledge that now three of the four people that had tortured his parents into insanity were no more, something that he and his grandmother both had desired for some time, could not take hold past his concern for his friends, or the (misplaced) guilt he felt that he had not been there to help them. Neville could not imagine the level of pain the two of them must have experienced, and indeed may still be experiencing; his only consolation was that they were with each other. Harry and Hermione had always, and probably would always, put each other back together when they fell apart; it seemed almost intrinsic to their relationship.

After finishing their tea and Neville making a brief Floo call, the teens departed the Headmaster's Office and, without a word, walked toward the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. Once safely ensconced upon a couch within a cozy sitting room, complete with happily crackling fire, provided by the Room of Requirement Luna finally spoke up. "Neville, talk to me. Tell me how you're feeling."

The blond-haired boy was staring off into space as he gave his response. "I'm . . . I'm not sure. Part of me is sad. About all of this. About Ron. About this whole damned war. About what Harry and Hermione had to go through at the funeral . . . about what they had to see." Neville shuddered at the very thought of Inferi; to have the body of your best friend rise up and try to kill you, only to be forced to take action . . . he wasn't sure how he would have responded to that. Wasn't sure if he _could_ have responded to that, which he surmised was exactly why Voldemort did it. "Another part of me is happy that 2 of the Lestranges are dead; that there's been a little more justice meted out for my parents. Happy that those monsters are dead. Happy that the story of Voldemort running away from Harry will help people believe we can win.

"But I'm also angry. Angry that it had to happen at all. Angry that Ron is dead and that the Death Eaters would dare to attack his funeral." Neville hung his head and closed his eyes as the next part came out as a whisper. "And part of me is angry at Harry. Angry that he killed Bellatrix and denied me the chance to do it myself. How stupid is that?"

"It's not stupid at all," Luna responded immediately, cupping his face in her small hands and forcing him to look over at her. "They are your feelings, Neville, for good or ill. The only stupid thing would be denying them. Don't be afraid to feel what you feel, and don't be afraid to talk about it, or to express it. Keeping it inside will eat away at you. Trust me; I did it for _far_ too long, and even thinking objectively I can see how much damage that has caused me."

Neville finally looked up and beheld the pale silvery eyes that continued to ensnare him with their beauty, captivate him with their intelligence, and amaze him with their sensitivity. Impulsively, he leaned forward quickly and caught her lips with his own, his arms wrapping tightly around her as his mouth worked against hers. Unexpectedly, the normally placid Luna responded aggressively, her hands pulling tightly on his hair and her tongue licking along his lips asking for entrance, which Neville quickly granted as he leaned back and pulled her atop him so that they both lay prone on the couch. He had known Luna for over a year and half and knew that there were still a lot of mysteries about her that he was eager to discover, but he would never in a million years have thought that the shy, unassuming blond he had come to have deep feelings for would behave the way that she currently was. He wasn't about to call her on it either. What they were doing didn't just feel good; it felt right.

His hands roamed up and down her back, sometimes lightly pressing, sometimes sliding his nails along the fabric of her robes. If her moans and whimpers, suppressed by their increasingly passionate kiss, were any indication then she liked everything he was doing. Which only confused him more when she suddenly broke their embrace and stood up, staring at him with a look he didn't recognize while her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Thinking that he had done something wrong, that he had pushed to far, he leaned up on his elbows and spoke. "Luna, I'm . . . I'm sorry . . . if that was too much too soon . . ."

Her lilting chuckle confused him even more, at least until she shed her robe, shoes, and blouse before pouncing upon him once more. She kissed, licked, nibbled, and suckled her way from where his neck met his shoulder up to his ear before biting it softly. "Silly boy. Not too much. Not enough," she whispered before licking along his earlobe and causing him to groan in pleasurable frustration. Neville's hands immediately returned to her back, all the more eager to wander now that there was nothing between them and the pale smoothness of Luna's body. He tried desperately to get his lips back on hers but she playfully refused, desiring instead to put her mouth to use by continuing her assault on the exposed skin of his neck and shoulders. Luna could feel his arousal against her as she teased him, but it was when she began nibbling along his Adam's Apple that he involuntarily bucked up against her, introducing a new dimension into their tryst. Far from being angry or disappointed, Luna moved her legs to straddle him and pressed herself down hard against the firmness now situated against her womanhood. "This . . ." she panted as she moved her hips slowly, generating sufficient friction even through their clothing to cause electric sparks to shoot from her core up through her entire body. "This is enough," she finished before their kiss resumed and his hands found her hips, pulling her tight against him while she ground down.

Caleb's journal lay forgotten on the floor.

{-}

"Henry?" Catherine Granger questioned of her husband as they drove home from their dental clinic after their last appointments of the day.

"Yes dear," Henry responded distractedly, his eyes on the road.

"Is there any particular reason why you're going almost 20 miles over the limit?"

"Oh, I don't know," he responded, "maybe because you told me our only daughter is home alone with the little bastard that caused her to have to take all those wretched potions at the end of last year?"

"That's incredibly unfair," Catherine responded testily. Henry had been acting unlike himself ever since she'd told him about Hermione's phone call. At first she thought it was just his anxiety finally peeking through, but this almost seemed like barely contained rage.

"Is it?" he shot back, quickly turning his head to look at her. "Alright then, I take it back. Then I'm rushing because our only daughter is home alone with the little bastard who is probably taking advantage of her impaired emotional state from her friend's funeral to slime his way into her knickers."

"Henry!"

"Tell me I'm wrong, Cat."

"I'm not sure there's ever been a time you've been more wrong," Catherine growled back out. "First off, Harry and Hermione have been best friends almost since she left for school. You've heard her talk about him; you know that he respects her, likes her, and would never take advantage of her. If they decided to get together, she could do a hell of a lot worse. Your brother-in-law ring any bells?" She knew it was a low blow, but neither one of them had any affection for the utterly useless, conniving, and unloving man Henry's sister had married. "Secondly, it was his best friend, too, not just Hermione's. If I had to guess I'd say he's going through at least as much emotional turmoil as she is. And third, even if they are trying to bring themselves a modicum of solace on what must be the most difficult day of their lives by having sex, are you about to become a hypocrite on me after almost 25 years of marriage and 30 of being together? You and I were Hermione's age when we first slept together, and that was at my parents' house when I was an emotional wreck after my dad died. And we'd only known each other since the beginning of sixth form, not since we were 11. _And_ Hermione is much, _much_ smarter and more mature than either of us was at that age." Henry only grumbled some more as he put his focus back onto the road. He knew his wife was right in everything she said; it didn't make it any easier to sublimate the emotions he was feeling about the fact that Hermione was home alone with a boy, the same boy that she had followed into a battle last year and gotten hurt badly for her effort. Based on what he'd heard about Harry from Hermione he imagined he was probably a pretty decent chap; it didn't make that protective father streak that seems to be inherent in males with daughters die down any. And so, while he let slightly off the accelerator, he was still eager to get home and find out why his daughter and her friend were there instead of at school.

The Grangers pulled into their garage and Henry entered the house while Catherine collected the dinner they had picked up from the back seat of the car. Entering through the back utility room, where they had decided to put their washer and dryer, Henry noticed a pile of robes on the floor and his eyes narrowed. _Why the hell are their clothes back here?!_ his overactive paternal instinct screamed at him. He was about to move past and find out what was going on when he noticed there were two ties in the pile as well, and one had some discoloration on it. Picking it up, he gasped quietly when he realized that a good portion of the right side was still stained a crusty red. _Blood_ he thought to herself. _Just what the fuck is going on?_ Dropping the tie he rushed the rest of the way into the house, looking to make sure that his baby was okay, unlike the last time that she'd left the school with 'the little bastard.' He passed through the kitchen and dining room before pulling up upon walking into the sitting room. There he beheld almost exactly what he'd feared he would. Harry (he presumed it was Harry; after all he hadn't seen the boy for over 4 years) lay on his back on the couch, Hermione half buried into the back of it and half draped over him not unlike that cat of hers would do when it wanted to get comfortable. His right arm and her left hung off the couch, their fingers entwined as they slept.

Seeing this, combined with bloody clothes in the wash, made all of his and his wife's well-reasoned, logical, and perfectly reasonable explanations fly from his head like paper caught in a tornado. Suddenly Henry Granger was no longer 'Henry Granger, First Class Cambridge Graduate, top student in his medical school class, sought after oral surgeon, and published author.' He was 'Henry Granger, worried, frantic, and pissed off father of a teenage daughter who was lying on the couch with a boy who was nothing but trouble.' He saw red, and stalked toward the couple with murder in his eyes.

Over the first 10 years Harry had spent at the Dursleys he had learned to have an almost sixth sense about when someone was approaching him as he slept. It seemed an understandable and essential evolution of his survival instinct since, at least until he moved upstairs after his first Hogwarts letter, the approach was usually Vernon or Petunia coming to either beat on the cupboard door to wake him up for chores or to throw the door open and skip the middle man by beginning to beat him. Years at Hogwarts where he didn't have to be so vigilant, along with the aforementioned move upstairs at Privet Drive meaning that he usually had time to wake and prepare for their entry into his room (due to them having to undo all of the locks) had dulled the sense somewhat but it had never fully gone away no matter how tired he had been when he'd fallen asleep.

It was a testament to the comfort he felt when he was with Hermione, then, that he didn't instinctually recognize approaching danger until it was too late. Still, Harry went from deep contented sleep to nearly full awareness almost instantly when a hand gripped his upper arm painfully tight and yanked, pulling him away from Hermione and off the couch. He was thrown sloppily across the room, still mostly horizontal, and the effects of the day, his exhaustion, and memories of him being chased and getting into fights with Dudley and his gang caused muscle memory to kick in. He tucked in and rolled, coming back up facing his opponent. Sometime during their furious make-out session Hermione had taken his glasses off, and so now the room was only a series of colored blurs. One such blur in dark green seemed to be coming at him, stalking him like Vernon used to when he wanted to frighten Harry before his beating. _Slytherin colors_ Harry thought, and once again reflex against a perceived threat kicked in. Harry sprung, shooting forward and driving his shoulder into the solar plexus of the other person. He heard a masculine grunt as he continued moving his legs, pushing the person as far away from a now fully awake and screaming Hermione as possible. He was running purely on instinct and adrenaline, everything in him saying that he needed to protect Hermione from whoever had found them.

The two toppled over one of the chairs in the room and tumbled to the ground, Harry knocking the wind out of whomever he was fighting as all of his body weight came down on the shoulder lodged firmly in the gut of his adversary. The momentum, however, caused Harry to almost cartwheel, his legs coming over before he rolled several times on the floor over the other person's head. He stood immediately and, frantic to eliminate the threat before they could do anything to Hermione or himself, he reached out his hand toward the end table next to the couch, where he knew his wand lay, and yelled " _Accio!_ " For the second time in his life Harry consciously performed proper wandless magic, holly and phoenix feather soaring the several feet from its resting place and landing comfortingly in his hand. Sparks flew from its tip as he turned to bring the weapon to bear against the groaning green blob on the floor.

Before he could take any other action, however, another missile flew in from his right, pinning his wand against him as arms wrapped around his midsection. Instinct almost caused him to respond to the new threat until he registered the brown hair of the person and he took in the flowery scent that would now always to him be distinctly Hermione. "Harry, stop!" she said, and she was close enough for him to see that she had tears in her eyes. "Harry, it's okay. We're alright, we're not in danger." Her presence soothed him as her head buried itself in his chest and her arms came loose from around him so that she could run her hands up and down his arms consolingly. After ensuring that Harry was once again calm, she allowed her own rage and indignation to take over as she turned toward the first figure, who appeared to Harry to have gotten up on one knee. "Dad, just what the hell did you think you were doing?"

 _Dad?_ Harry thought, the logic centers of his brain kicking in and taking over for the adrenaline-fueled instinct that had defined the last few moments. He tried squinting to see if that helped him see clearly, but all that accomplished was making things worse as he was now trying to see through his eyelashes. Hermione, as if sensing his need, unfolded the eyeglasses in her hand and put them in Harry's. Seating them on his face, a man who appeared in his early middle age came into focus. Though still on one knee, a hand across his stomach, Harry estimated he was of average height and had an athletic build. His hair color matched Hermione's with the exception of the greying temples, and he was dressed in green hospital scrubs. The man took a steadying breath before rising to his feet.

"Well, Father? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Say for _myself_?!" he shouted indignantly. "You're the one lying asleep all cozily on the couch with the arsehole that almost got you killed last year! Your clothes are in a pile in the back room, some of them covered in blood, and I don't even want to think about the situation of how he came to be dressed in your clothes!" Henry turned an angry glare at Harry, who met the stare with one of his own. "Get what you came for you little prick? Did you steal my daughter's virtue in my very house?!"

That comment re-ignited Harry's ire, and he was just about to respond when the opportunity was lost. "Henry Eric Granger that's enough!" bellowed a stern voice just entering the fray. Harry and Hermione both turned to see the woman who had come in from the back of the house, a bag in her hand and a severe expression on her face. For Harry there could be no doubt, even discounting where they were, that this was Hermione's mother; now he knew where the woman that he loved had gotten her soulful brown eyes from. She was about Hermione's height but had a slimmer build than her rather well-proportioned daughter, and her short, neat, dirty blond hair was in stark contrast to Hermione's thick, wavy, brown tresses.

Hermione left Harry's arms to move toward her mother, who enveloped the younger woman in a needy hug. Harry and Henry just continued to stare at each other, Henry's arm still across his sore stomach and Harry nervously twisting his wand in his hand, ready to raise it in defense if Hermione's father decided to restart their apparent disagreement. Neither made a move when the women turned from each other to face them and the older spoke again. "Gentlemen, and I appear to be using that term loosely at the moment, let's all sit down at the table and talk."

When neither male moved from their spot for several seconds, an exasperated sigh left her. She walked up to her husband and, taking him by the arm, pulled him toward the dining room. Harry watched them go, his posture tense. Hermione came over to him, gently taking his right hand into both of hers to stop his nervous fiddling with the holly and phoenix feather wand. She stared up into his eyes and he down into hers, and she could see the depth of both anger and resentment present there over what her father had said and done. To be fair she shared those sentiments at the moment, but she knew that they would all have to sit down and hash this out. Still holding his right hand, she gently led him toward the dining room, where her parents were seated in two of the six chairs, her father at the head of the table and her mother to his right. Hermione set Harry into the chair opposite her father before taking the one next to her mother, using her as a not-so-unconscious shield from her father and both of them as barriers between the older man and the younger.

"Alright," Hermione's mother said as she turned to look at the teenagers. "First off, Hermione, it's good to see you, despite the circumstances. And Harry, welcome to our home." She turned an evil eye on Henry as he snorted in derision. "In case Hermione hasn't told you, my name is Catherine, and this misguided lump of excess testosterone is my husband Henry. Now before we get into anything else, why don't you two tell us why you're here instead of at school? I know that your friend Ron's funeral was today and, while I understand it's a difficult time for the both of you, I can't believe that that was enough to give you leave to not be in Scotland."

"Isn't it obvious? He probably convinced her to come here for a quick shag," Henry said with a growl.

Harry's indignation once again came to the fore at the (what Harry considered) insulting remark. "I believe the question was directed to us and _not_ to you," Harry responded angrily.

"Don't you dare talk back to me in my own house, boy," Henry responded as his face turned an angry red.

"Henry what the hell is wrong with you?" Catherine admonished, but it was Hermione's comment in stereo with her mother's that was the more ominous.

"Oh damn," Hermione had said as she shut her eyes. "I really wish you hadn't called him that."

"Why . . . . . aaaat?" Henry started to ask and then exclaimed as he suddenly found himself wrapped in ropes and hanging upside down by one of his ankles.

"You want to know why we're here? Okay. I'll tell you why we're here." Harry stood, pocketing his wand as he walked around the opposite side of the table from the women and sat down in the empty chair closest to the _Levicorpus_ 'd and _Incarcerous'd_ Henry Granger. Catherine attempted to stand, to defend her husband and/or defuse the situation, but Hermione grabbed her arm to make her keep her seat and shook her head when her mother opened her mouth to say something. Harry saw none of it as he leaned down so that he was almost face to face with Hermione's father and began to talk. His voice was steady and quiet, but there was no mistaking both the emotion and the steel that the words were laced with.

"We're here because we had to fight for our lives today. Not because we wanted to. Not because we invited it. We had to fight for our lives for the simple crime of continuing to exist when they don't want us to. They firebombed the Tower of London just to make sure that our law enforcement wouldn't be able to respond and they could do the job right this time." Catherine gasped at hearing that, having heard the reports on the news in between patients, but otherwise kept herself silent. Harry just sighed and shook his head as he continued. "I killed at least 3 people today, quite possibly more." Another gasp from Hermione's mother along with a brief wide-eyed look from her father, greeting that news. "And despite how evil, disgusting, and wretched they were I'm still going to have to live with that for the rest of my life. They –" Harry's voice caught slightly but he marshalled himself and went on. "They turned the body of our best friend into a soulless monster that would have torn us apart." That caused Catherine to cry out in horror and pull her now weeping daughter closer. "They made your daughter watch as his animated corpse stalked toward us. They . . . they forced me to act. Forced me to look at the face of a man who was as good as a brother to me and utterly destroy him in order to save our lives." Harry's calm was almost disturbing, talking about these things as if reading them from a book. "After all of that, we knew we needed time, someplace safe where we could cry and try to heal. This," Harry waved his hand around the room, "was the first place she thought of, the one place where she thought we could get those things. Get what we needed after what happened. And until a little while ago it was working; right up until you showed up."

Harry turned his head and, for the first time since the Grangers had arrived home, a smile came to his face. "Your daughter is an amazing witch, an exceptional woman, and an even better friend. She saved my soul earlier today. That's not romantic drivel or teenage hyperbole; her love for me, and mine for her, literally excised an evil that was trying to possess me. She alone did that, and I realize now that only she could have. I feel like one of the most fortunate people on Earth that she looks at me the way she has today, and hope to one day both be worthy of that look and be able to return it to her such that she knows I feel the same way she does." Hermione had turned her head out from her mother's chest and toward Harry when he'd started speaking of her, and in later years her smile at his words would both warm and haunt Henry Granger; warm because it was a look of honest and pure love and haunted because his actions could very well have made it so that smile was never revealed.

The moment passed, and Harry's smile disappeared as he re-addressed Henry. "Hate me all you like; it's all I knew from when my parents died until I left for Hogwarts. Insult me to your heart's content; you'll be hard pressed to find one that either my family or the wizarding world as a whole hasn't already laid at my feet. Think poorly of me, yell and scream at me, or hit me all you like; I'm used to it. But you will not so much as _insinuate_ the despicable things about Hermione you're accusing us of.

"How dare you?!" Harry hissed out, his temper finally getting the better of him. "That is your daughter over there with tears in her eyes. Tears that have been there for the last five days; I know because I've been wiping them away just the same as she has mine. Tears of pain, loss, sorrow, and fear. She's lost one of her best friends, a man I know she loved, that she still loves and will probably always love. And today, instead of being able to say goodbye properly, she was forced to once again fight with everything she has against a group of people who would think nothing of butchering your entire family in their beds, and would do so without the slightest compunction. So she brought us here in an attempt to find peace and solace, and instead of that there's only aggression and insults.

"You want me gone? Fine; this is your house and I have to respect your wishes, so I'll gather my things and darken your doorstep no longer. But you'd better put whatever the fuck that was before in a deep dark hole and be the loving and caring father I've heard so much about, that I've longed for my entire life, and that Hermione desperately needs right now. Because you raise your voice against your daughter one more time in my presence and I'll show you why the most dangerous wizard in Britain ran away from me with his tail between his legs earlier today." With that, Harry stood and walked out of the room, a room whose occupants were stunned into silence. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

After a moment Catherine was able to speak again. "That was . . . was . . ." she began, searching for the appropriate word.

"I've been calling it 'dragon-y,'" Hermione supplied, looking toward the door that Harry had left through. "It's a fairly new development, but I have to admit I like it."

"Hermione, please undo . . . whatever all that is . . . from your father," Catherine said as she got up from her chair. The younger Granger woman was about to protest when her mother completed her statement. "I'll see to Harry." With a nod of assent from Hermione, Catherine walked out of the room.

Hermione drew her wand and, though she was still stunningly upset at her father, carefully rotated him back upright before undoing his bindings and setting him gently in his chair. She placed her wand on the table as she stared at him, and he had the decency to hang his head at her glare.

"I owe you an apology," Henry began, inwardly cringing that the statement didn't even begin to describe what he needed to do.

"You're damn right you do," she spat back, trying and failing to control her own temper. "You are the most intelligent man I know; I would have _never_ thought you were capable of what you did and said today, that you would both act that way and think so little of me." Henry's flinched as if pained at the second part of her accusation. "Where did all of that come from?"

Henry shrugged. "It sat in my head all afternoon; why were you home? Why was Harry with you? I know how teenage boys are, and I know that grieving teenage girls aren't exactly paragons of reason. And . . . and I guess I'm still harboring a lot of resentment towards him for last June, and for all of the summers and holidays that we've missed with you, seemingly because of him. And it stewed.

"And then I get home and see crumpled clothes on the floor, covered in dirt and blood, and I all of a sudden I was seeing you after you got home last summer. All of those awful potions you had to take, all of that pain, and there was nothing I could do about it. But it was when I saw you two on the couch that I finally snapped. My little girl, lying there with the boy I blamed for taking her away from me, for putting her in danger, for getting her hurt. Even though he was asleep he had that smirk on his face and I was convinced he had taken advantage of you, had used you to get what he wanted. And the top blew off the pressure cooker." Henry wasn't a man much for tears, but he was closer at this point than he had been in a very long time. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. You're right; I should have taken a minute and thought it through, let you all explain what was going on. But I just lost it." Henry reached out to try and put his hand on Hermione's, but his daughter pulled her hand away.

"I will accept your apology on one condition. You also have to apologize to Harry. You have no idea what he's been through today."

"Well, it seems you went through the same things," Henry responded. He was confused by Hermione's sad chuckle.

"We might have been in the same place, but I don't think our experiences were even close. The easiest part of Harry's day was probably giving Ron's eulogy. Everyone was crying by the end of it. Then," Hermione's eyes hardened, "then, the woman who killed his godfather, who had shared a dream with Harry about them living together as a family before he was killed the same night I was hurt, shows up along with a bunch of Death Eaters and a giant fight breaks out. We'd kind of mostly expected it, and had decided beforehand that we weren't going to make the same mistake we made last year at the Ministry."

"What, running off on a whim without a plan?" Henry couldn't help but quip. He was floored by her deadpan response, though.

"No, not shooting to kill when they're trying to kill you."

"Sweetheart? Did . . . did you . . ." He couldn't quite get out the words to ask if his seventeen-year-old daughter had taken a life. He visibly relaxed when she shook her head, converse to her tensing.

"No. I tried, though, a few times. The . . ." she closed her eyes as if pained, and Henry saw her unconsciously rub her chest. "The man who hurt me last year was there." Her head shook slightly side to side, eyes still closed, as the memory crept back up on her. "I was trying so hard. I wanted him dead. _Needed_ him dead. Needed to be the one to kill him. And I eventually got him with a few spells, but they were all quick-casts and mostly innocuous things. But they worked; they knocked him out of the fight." Hermione opened her eyes. "And he was there. On his knees. And I had my wand raised . . ." she imitated the movement with her empty hand, her vision seeing the events of earlier that day. "But . . . but I couldn't do it. When I talked to the Aurors I said it was because I wanted him to face justice, to know that he'd been beaten by a teenaged girl and could expect nothing better than a return to the hell that he'd been sprung from. But it was all bull; I knew why I really Stunned him, and so did Harry. Regardless of what he'd done to me, or to others; despite what a worthless waste of humanity he is, I couldn't kill an unarmed man, no matter how much I wanted to. So I Stunned him instead, breaking our own rule. Harry didn't call me on it, and I know he'll never bring it up, and I love him all the more for it. But despite knowing that I won a moral pyrrhic victory for not killing him, I feel like such a . . . I don't know . . . a fraud? A failure? A disappointment? I feel like a terrible human being for wanting to kill him and at the same time like one for not following through. I don't know . . ." Hermione put her hands to the sides of her head and squeezed. "I'm so conflicted." She looked over at Henry, and his heart broke as he saw the dread and doubt in her eyes. "Daddy?"

And that was all it took; the rest of the explanation of the day's events didn't matter anymore to Henry. What she did, what she and Harry might have done; it all paled in comparison to the fact that this was his little girl and she needed him, perhaps now more than she ever had or ever would again. In an instant he was in the chair vacated by his wife, his daughter burrowed into his chest as his arms wrapped around her, as if trying to shield her from all the evil of the world, like a father should. Hermione didn't cry, but instead allowed herself to be surrounded by the peaceful protection that she had always found in her father's embrace. There were still a lot of things to work out, but for those few moments all the rest of it could take a back seat to the comfort and care Hermione needed, which Henry was more than willing to provide.

{-}

Catherine caught up to Harry in the utility room, where he was pulling the laundry out of the washer. As she watched, he placed Hermione's in the dryer and wrapped his own in his dirty set of outer robes. "Harry?" Catherine began tentatively. He turned toward her, his expression hollow.

"I'll be out in a moment, ma'am. Just needed to grab my clothes."

"You'll do no such thing, young man," Catherine responded with conviction. "Despite what happened earlier, you are welcome here."

"Your husband doesn't agree."

"You leave my husband to Hermione and me," she answered. "Honestly I haven't seen him that worked up in a while; he must be terrified."

"Ma'am?"

"Quit the ma'am stuff, Harry. Mrs. Granger if you must, or Catherine or Cat if you like." The faintest hint of a smile crossed Harry's face, and she took it as a good sign. "My Hank is a wonderful man but like anyone suffers from character flaws. The first one, if you can call it a flaw, is that he is an intellectual; his thought processes are based on logic, and his actions usually bear that out. However, it has made it such that he pushes down a lot of his emotions; it's not that he doesn't feel them, but he doesn't express them. He explained it to me once that he just forces his mind somewhere else. When they get out, however, they tend to all come out at once, and in every instance it's been fear that has been the straw that broke the camel's back.

"I know you probably don't understand this yet, Harry, but someday when you have a child of your own you will. Parents live in an almost constant fear for their children, and for the last six years Hank and I have been in a state of near-paranoid fright. We sent our only daughter alone into a world that we knew nothing about, a world that smashed up against Hank's long-held ideas of a logical reasoned, and orderly universe, on the word of a complete stranger. She wrote to us of ghosts and magic incantations, giants, centaurs, elves; all the stuff of fairy tales. And she told us of the dangers; she never tried to hide them from us. We know how you saved her from a troll when she was 12, of how she could have died from that giant snake when she was 13, and running for her life from a werewolf at 14. And she would end most of those stories with telling us that much of that was nothing compared to what you had to endure. I hope you can see how that would cause us to fear for her safety and survival." Harry could only nod, knowing that he couldn't form a defense for the magical world against the truth.

"And then she comes home last year, wounded, weak, and in more pain than she was willing to admit to, with stories of following you into a fight you had no right being in; a fight that honestly none of you should have survived." Harry winced as if struck at that; again, there was no denying the validity of Catherine's words. "She then tells us about a war, a war that her best friend is central to, and how she was going to stand by your side regardless of the consequences. And Hank tried to use logic to talk her out of it, but I guess she has a little more of me in her than any of us realized," Catherine added, which made Harry smile a bit; for some reason he had no trouble imagining the part of Hermione that had decked Draco Malfoy came from the woman in front of him.

"Through all of this, Hank never yelled, never raged, never cried, never wavered; he kept it all in, not knowing how to properly deal with the illogic of it all. Not just the illogic of magic, but of his studious and learned little girl acting with such resolve, conviction, and passion based not on logic but mostly on her unwavering trust in, loyalty to, and love for, you." Harry's eyes were as wide as saucers at that, and Catherine smiled. "Oh yes, I've known for some time that Hermione loves you, I think even before she did. I'm guessing she only recently worked up the nerve to say it out loud, though. Yes?" Harry could only nod dumbly, completely shocked by his first experience with a mother's intuition.

Catherine's smile faded. "You were right in what you said before; she loves the both of you, yourself and Ron. Which is why I'd guess it's only been recently that she's admitted to either set of feelings." She seemed lost in a thought, her eyes staring at nothing. "That's how it works sometimes; we can't express ourselves how we truly wish to until some unprecedented event drives it out of us. That's not to say that the emotions aren't real," she continued as Harry paled; she surmised (correctly she would find out years later) that he was worried Hermione's admissions were born of recent events and would fade away to nothing. "We struggle so hard to control ourselves, our surroundings, our lives; it's been my experience that all that leads to when the dam breaks, which it invariably will, is a bigger flood. But the water is still water, and it will still flow strongly and as it was meant to after the high waters recede. With love, the torrents, rapids, and chaotic swirls of the flood, the 'honeymoon phase' as I've heard it called, settle into the gentle, constant, and comforting flow of the river along the path Nature destined for it.

"It's similar with Hank," she continued, shaking away some thought or memory Harry knew not. "He bottled up all of his fear, doubt, and worry about Hermione behind that dam, thinking that he was being a supportive father, letting her choose her own destiny. And since he's better than most at hiding what he's really feeling, that all had a long time to build up inside him. Unfortunately, you got to experience today what happened when it became too much and that dam finally broke. I'm sorry it happened, Harry, and I'm not trying to justify or excuse Hank's actions; Lord knows if he'd done that to me or said any one of the, quite honestly, incredibly insulting things he said to the two of you earlier he wouldn't know which way was up by the time I was done with him. But I'm asking you to try and see the 'why' behind the 'what.' One of Hank's favorite things to do with Hermione when she was growing up was to ask her 'Why?' when she learned something knew. Why is the sky blue or grass green? Why do tigers have stripes but lions don't? Why do elements react with some but not others? It's not enough to know that something happened, Harry; it's just as important to know why it did. Not to place blame, not to allay your conscience, but simply in order to understand and, hopefully, be able to come to a level of acceptance. Does that make sense?"

Harry's eyes were focused on Catherine's feet as he absorbed everything she had said. He finally looked up at her as he replied. "It does. And it helps me understand a lot more about Hermione as well." He went on as Catherine's head cocked to the side in question. "It's never been enough for her to know how to cast a spell or what the spell did; she needs to know why it does what it does, why the words and wand movements cause that particular effect, in some cases why someone would come up with a spell to begin with. You can't tell me that someone meant to invent the toenail-lengthening jinx." They both smiled, much of the remaining tension finally broken as Harry put his clothes back on top of the washer. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For talking me down. For helping me begin to understand, not just this but seemingly about so many things in my life thus far. For making me ask the question; it's amazing how many possibilities open when you can bring yourself to ask such a simple thing as 'why.' And for putting it in terms I can understand, which Hermione still has trouble with sometimes," he finished with a smirk.

"No thanks needed, Harry. Now let's go see how much damage Hermione has done to my husband."

Harry chuckled at that and the two of them walked back into the dining room to see Hermione cradled in Henry's arms as they sat in their chairs, the two of them talking softly about seemingly inconsequential things. Upon seeing Catherine and Harry re-enter the room Hermione stood, kissed her father on the forehead, and walked over to them before wrapping Harry in a tight embrace. On reflex, his arms came around her comfortingly and he placed a soft kiss on her temple. Catherine smiled as she walked towards Henry, who had also stood and approached the far side of the table from where he'd been. He and Harry appraised each other for a moment before the older man spoke. "Harry, I'd like to apologize for the amazing level of stupidity I exhibited earlier, and I was hoping that maybe we can try to start over."

Hermione's arms tightened around him as he responded. "I think I'd like to try that as well."

Smiling, Henry extended his hand. "Henry Granger."

Harry couldn't help but smirk as he shook the offered hand. "Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you again, sir."

A sudden loud clap caused Harry, Hermione, and Henry to jump. "Smashing. Now, who wants cold Chinese food?"

* * *

A/N: The moral of this chapter is "don't keep it inside," and if I was doing chapter titles in this story that probably would have been it. Talk to someone, it doesn't matter who. And remember; your feelings are never stupid.

It took three drafts, at 7-9K words each, to finally cobble something together that I thought I could put out.

I hope that those of you who asked "How the F could Hermione just stun Dolohov?" are okay with the answer presented. It didn't express itself quite how I wanted it to, which was that she couldn't bring herself to kill an unarmed man on his knees, no matter how much he deserved it. And for those of you who expressed displeasure that she mixed in what are basically prank spells, I'll point out that Dolohov hit Neville with a _Tarantallegra_ in the DoM, and they were playing for keeps then too.

Sixth Form, from what I understand, is the stage of education in the UK for ages 16-18.

This should hopefully conclude the "teenage angsty melodrama" portion of our broadcast day. We will now attempt to move on to the "doing something about it" phase.

As always, thanks for you favorites, follows, views, and reviews.


	11. Chapter 11

Remus paced nervously back and forth in front of the fireplace in the sitting room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. It had taken a while to calm the Weasleys down and explain what happened, only to have to calm them again afterward. As he had known would happen, not a single one of them blamed Harry for what he had been forced to do; now he just needed the young man himself to appear so that he could tell him that. Hermione had said to meet them, but she hadn't said _when_ ; just 'later.' He and Dora had arrived about 45 minutes ago, and he'd spent the entire time doing what he was now, much to Tonks's consternation.

"Remus, please sit down. You're making me tired just watching you," the Auror finally commented from the threadbare couch.

"Dora, you don't understand," the werewolf replied with a haunted look in his eyes. He spoke softly. "He's all I have left of James, Lily, and Sirius." Remus turned to regard her and continued. "When all of that happened in '81, I'm embarrassed to say that I wasn't even thinking about Harry. My entire world had evaporated in almost the blink of an eye, and while everyone else celebrated I ran, and when I couldn't run I hid in a bottle. For almost 3 years I lived like a gypsy, taking work where I could both in the magical and Muggle world, never making any lasting connections because every time I tried it hurt in here," he said, tapping on his breastbone. "It hurt to think that I would even contemplate replacing them in my life. I know that's not how it works," he said, forestalling her response, "but that's how it felt.

"When I finally got my shite together somewhere in early '85, I wrote to Dumbledore asking about Harry. He sent me a note back saying he was safe, though was stunningly sparse on details; I found out later it was because he'd never checked back in with the Dursleys after he'd left Harry there, per the promise he had made Petunia. The promise also encompassed everyone else; Albus wouldn't tell me where they lived because he knew that I would do anything and everything to see Harry, which would just set the Dursleys off. And for whatever reason, I didn't push the issue." Remus frowned at his own recollection. "I think somewhere subconsciously I thought that Harry, even only being 4 or 5, would reject me because of what I am, and my heart just couldn't take that. I held him as a baby, you know?" Remus asked, a small smile on his face that disappeared almost immediately. "I wasn't sure I could take him looking at me the way almost the entire rest of the world does when they find out about me.

"And so I ran again. Thankfully I didn't fall back into drinking my life away; I found a master in the States who was willing to let me apprentice for my credentials in Defense and Runes despite my condition. I buried myself in that and finally finished my qualifications in '92, just in time to take the DADA post at Hogwarts in '93." Remus had turned and laid a hand on the mantle of the fireplace, staring into the burning embers that lay there. "I thought I was finally ready to face my demons that had haunted me since that Halloween. But then Sirius escaped, and all the crazy that seems to orbit around Harry pulled me in, and . . . well, I think you know the rest.

"I was happy to see him. To get to know him. Standing there, looking so much like James and acting so much like Lily." Remus smiled. "And then I found out Sirius was innocent, and the axis of my world finally seemed to be tilting back to where it belonged. Sirius and I both decided to take our time, to heal ourselves while continuing to try and build a relationship with Harry. Baby steps. But then Voldemort was back and everything went to Hell. And then . . . Sirius died, and it all just started falling apart again.

"I love that boy like he was my own. I have since the day he was born, from the first moment Lily put him in my arms. For so long I couldn't face up to that, but now I think I'm ready. I want to help him: to learn, to grow, to find himself, whatever. It doesn't matter. He's the last link to the life I had, and a building block to the life I want. And I hadn't even taken the time to appreciate and cherish that until I thought he was going to die too, just like all the others."

"I always knew, Remus, even if you couldn't say it," came Harry's soft voice from the entry to the hallway. Remus and Tonks both turned to see Harry and Hermione, holding hands and seemingly none the worse for wear. "You and Sirius both. I know how much you both cared."

"Harry, I –" a hand from Harry stopped Remus before he could continue.

"There will be time, Remus. We'll make it. Hell, we'll build a Time Turner if we have to." As Hermione moved toward the couch Harry walked over and put a hand on the werewolf's shoulder. "You're all I have left of them too, you know. The last true Marauder. The last of my first family. I'm not letting that go without a fight." He turned back toward the women. "But that's something for another day. I think today should be about plans and explanations." Harry looked around, his brows furrowing as if something wasn't quite right. "And let's start with one for all of us. Kreacher!"

A few seconds after the summons the old house elf appeared in the room with a loud _crack_. "Nasty half-blood master calls Kreacher? Oh, what would mistress say if she found creatures and Mudbloods in the House of Black?"

Not in the mood to beat around the bush or try to change the elf, Harry got straight to the point. "Kreacher, there either is or was something that belonged to Voldemort in this house. Don't try to deny it, I'm more than sure. I demand that you tell me what it is, where it is, and how it came to be here." The other three seemed to want to ask him how he knew this, but he waved them off as he waited for Kreacher to answer.

The aged being struggled to fight the command from his master, but in the end the magic was too strong. "There was a locket that Kreacher and Master Regulus took from the Dark Lord." Kreacher put his head down, and everyone in the room was startled to see him start to cry. "Kreacher hates the locket. Kreacher must destroy it for Master Regulus."

Harry knelt down in front of the now sobbing house elf. "Kreacher, I need you to explain all of that, and I need you to do so right now." Kreacher looked up at Harry, and, in between breakdowns, told the story of how the locket came to be in Grimmauld Place; Regulus's 'loan' of Kreacher to Voldemort, discovering what the locket was, the elf and Regulus going to the cave to collect it, and Regulus's death at the hands of the Inferi defenders of the island the locket resided upon. Kreacher spoke of his attempts to destroy the locket, his repeated failures and self-punishment for failing his master, and how once his Mistress died the only thing that kept him going was his desire to see Master Regulus's last order fulfilled. Everyone in the room was familiar with the dedication seen among house elves, but even this seemed beyond what they would have expected of the diminutive race. At the end, though, there was one piece of information they needed that had not been given.

"Kreacher, where is the locket now?" Harry asked.

Kreacher seemed to cringe back from his master as he answered. "Kreacher does not know where the locket is."

"What happened to it? Why isn't it in this house any longer?"

The elf's eyes took on a furious stare as he answered. "The thief: Mundungus Fletcher. He came the same night Mistress Bella put an end to the unworthy betrayer." Harry had to sublimate his anger at Kreacher's description of Sirius, and both Tonks and Hermione had to keep Remus out of it. "He took many things. The silver. The Order of Merlin. And the locket."

Harry remembered running into Dung in Hogsmeade and seeing the goblets with the Black crest on them that had fallen out of his briefcase. He remembered being really upset at that time; now knowing that he had also taken Voldemort's locket was putting him to a point where the other three could feel his magic permeating the room as he stood. "Kreacher," Harry said, and something in his tone, or more likely the angry magic roiling all around the elf, caused him to immediately stop crying and stand up straight. "Find him and bring him to me. Willingly, unwillingly, I don't care as long as he's still alive. Bring him here." Surprising the humans in the room with his short bow, the elf disappeared from the room.

"Oh Harry I wish you wouldn't talk to him like that," said Hermione once Kreacher had left.

"Hermione, this is Voldemort we're talking about," he replied. "I understand that ordering house elves instead of asking them crosses some kind of line, but honestly we don't have time to do this the hard way."

After a moment, the witch nodded. "Right. Perspective," she said simply, before walking over to Harry, pulling him by the hand, plopping him down in a chair, and sitting on his lap. "Okay, Harry, now explain all that. How did you know something of Voldemort's was here?"

Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist as he took a deep breath. "I'm not exactly sure. Since everything happened earlier I've felt different. Lighter, maybe? Cleaner? I'm guessing it's because the Horcrux is gone. Well, when I walked into the house, I felt a hint of that . . . I guess what used to be there," he finished, tapping his much-reduced scar.

"I'm sorry, but can someone tell me what the hell we're talking about?" asked Tonks, the exasperation clear in her voice. Harry thought about her request. Dumbledore had asked that he not bring the Horcruxes up with anyone except Ron and Hermione. Of course, he had then spoken of them in front of Remus, and Harry wasn't particularly in a 'listen to and heed what Dumbledore says' kind of mood anyway. Besides, based on the situation he figured he would need all the help he could get, and he instinctively knew he could trust the pink-haired Auror sitting across from him.

After explaining to Tonks what they knew about Horcruxes (which was noticeably sparse), including Dumbledore saying that one had been in Harry, the Auror pondered for a moment before commenting. "That kind of makes sense, actually," Tonks offered, and she continued as the other three looked at her questioningly. "Have you ever had someone come up to you and tell you that you smell bad, but you can't tell? Then, once you've cleaned up, you can immediately smell it on what you were wearing? Maybe it's kind of like that; with this Horcrux thing inside you, you couldn't tell. But once it was removed you can pick up on others."

"So you're saying I seem to be able to sniff out Horcruxes?" Harry asked with a chuckle.

"Hey, it was the best analogy I could think of," Tonks defended her description.

"That actually makes a lot of sense," Hermione added. "Having one in you for so many years has given you a sensitivity to them now that they're not being 'masked' by the one in your head. Hopefully we can use that to find any others he might have made."

"So you got a plan, Harry, or are you just going to Gryffindor it and see what happens?" Tonks asked with a smirk.

"Well, for now the plan is to find Dung and get the locket back." Harry's face scrunched up again; something was on the very edge of his consciousness but he was having trouble bringing it to the fore. He went over the last few minutes in his mind, trying to figure out what was causing the sensation that he was missing something important. They'd come in, talked to Remus and Tonks, talked to Kreacher about Voldemort's locket . . .

"The locket," Harry said distractedly.

"What's that, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"That's why Dumbledore has been showing me all of those memories about Riddle," Harry said, and the more he thought about it the more he knew he was right. "He wasn't just telling me about the bastard's history, he was telling me what he thought the Horcruxes were!"

"Sorry, don't follow," Tonks said. "What memories?"

"Dumbledore has been giving me lessons all year, but instead of dueling or Transfiguration he's been showing me memories of Riddle's history before he became Voldemort. The first memory was from before he was born, showing me his mother, uncle, and grandfather. Voldemort's mother, Merope, was wearing a locket that belonged to Slytherin in the memory, and Marvolo was wearing a ring that he said had belonged to some old family I can't remember. Dumbledore had the ring; he said himself he'd gotten it around the same time he'd hurt his hand. What if the ring was another Horcrux, and Dumbledore got hurt destroying it?" Hermione gasped, unable to refute the path Harry's thoughts were traveling.

"What other memories did he show you?" Remus asked, having moved up to the very edge of the couch cushion.

"There was one about when Dumbledore first told Riddle he was a wizard, and then one where Riddle met his uncle. And the false one from Slughorn. That's it. Nothing in those seemed focused on an object or anything like that." Harry stopped and pondered for a second before speaking again. "Slughorn's false memory was him telling Riddle to get out after he'd been asked about Horcruxes."

"You don't think he knows how to make one, do you?" offered Tonks.

Hermione could only shrug her shoulders. "He doesn't really seem the type. Yes, he's quite slimy and I feel the need to check if I still have all my fingers after I shake his hand, but he doesn't actually seem evil. And if Voldemort wanted this information, and with how Dumbledore seems especially eager to keep the information contained, we have to assume the process to make one is quite distasteful. I don't think he has it in him."

"But it's the only thing that makes sense if Slughorn was ashamed enough to deliberately falsify a memory," the Metamorphmagus responded.

"I'm with Hermione on this one," Remus added. "Maybe he gave Voldemort clues to where he could find out more about them. Or said he'd put him in touch with one of his Slug Club alums who might have known. Without the real memory we can't know what Dumbledore's looking for."

"I'll deal with Slughorn when we get back to the castle," Harry said, and from his tone none of the other three doubted what Harry meant by 'deal with.' Harry was going to get the information that he needed; after what Riddle had done today he was playing for keeps.

"I hope Dung still has the locket when Kreacher finds him," Hermione said, trying to change the subject. "Dumbledore said that the diary that possessed Ginny was a Horcrux, and she was just writing in it. Can you imagine what would happen to someone after wearing a piece of Voldemort all day?" She shivered at the thought, and the other three carried worried looks over the possible implications.

"Okay, that's just not funny," Tonks said after a dry swallow.

"We need to figure out how Dumbledore destroyed the ring," Harry thought out loud. "A Basilisk fang worked on the diary, but that might have been because it was a sharp, corrosive object hitting paper." Harry blushed slightly. "And I don't think how Hermione and I got rid of the one in my head will work either. But if Kreacher couldn't break the locket I'm going to imagine it takes more than just 'kill it with fire,'" Harry sighed before continuing. "I should probably have that 'reckoning' talk with Dumbledore sooner rather than later; I know he's meant well, but it seems like everything he does that involves me just ends up fucking me over worse, and I'm bloody tired of it. And . . . something tells me he hasn't got a lot of time left."

"What makes you say that, Harry?" queried Remus.

"Well, something obviously is wrong with his hand, probably some kind of curse to look at it. And it must be bad for no one to have been able to fix it. And he's . . . what? A hundred and twenty? One thirty?"

"Not quite one hundred and sixteen," answered Hermione automatically.

"Close enough," said Harry. "He's no spring chicken, and an injury like that at his age can't be good. In addition to his age and his hand, there have been at least two attempts on his life this year; first the necklace that got Katie and then the liquor bottle Slughorn had." Harry ruthlessly fought down the anger that welled up at the thought of both of those incidents; it would do him no good at the moment. "Hermione, I think we need to run with your plan to get Draco talking as well."

"Malfoy? What has that little blond ponce been up to?" Remus asked.

"Harry's gut is telling him he had something to do with both of the assassination attempts," Hermione offered. "I'm not as sure, but if six years of being near Harry has taught me anything it's to listen to Harry's gut. So we want to see what he knows, and if he really did have anything to do with it."

"And God help him if he did," growled Harry.

"Harry, finding out who did those things is my job, not yours," Tonks offered. Harry just turned to her and stared.

"Ron's dead and Katie's been in St. Mungo's since first term because of all that. I know you're an Auror, Tonks, and that investigating these things is your responsibility, but let me ask you a couple of questions. First; is anyone even _trying_ to figure out what happened to Katie Bell, or has everyone in the Ministry already forgotten that she was subjected to the _Imperius_ Curse and almost died at the hands of a cursed Dark object?" Tonks had no answer; not that Harry seemed to be expecting one as he kept on talking. "Second; do you have any evidence whatsoever, or do you think you can get any short of strapping the little shit down and pumping him full of Veritaserum, to support my claim that Draco Malfoy is somehow involved in any of this? And if so, do you think you'll be able to charge him? And if so, do you think Lucy's money along with all the favors Daddy dearest probably has to cash in at the Ministry will make it so that anything other than him walking out the door with a 'Sorry about that' happens to him?" The Auror could only shake her head impotently; she believed in the law but she was also a realist, and knew that pretty much everything Harry had just said was exactly how things would play out should she follow the Malfoy angle. In addition, she was sure that if she were to arrest Draco on suspicion of being the culprit without any evidence, more than likely it would mean the end of her short career. She put her head down dejectedly as Remus sat beside her and took her hand in his.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself before he continued. He wasn't mad at Tonks at all; he was mad at the situation and the limitations placed on her. "I know you would if you could Tonks, but I need you both to understand something. _I cannot let this pass._ Evidence or no, I know in my bones that Draco Malfoy had a hand in the murder of Ron Weasley. I cannot, _will not_ , stand by and let him get away with it. Or worse, injure or kill someone else. If I find out for sure that he was involved, he's going to pay."

"Harry you can't go all vigilante, playing judge, jury and executioner," Remus argued.

"What would you have me do, Remus?" Harry argued back, a clear edge in his voice. "First off, being a vigilante is, essentially, _exactly_ what everyone, including the Ministry, is asking me to be. They want me, ME, a 16-year-old kid, to walk up to Voldemort and plant him in the ground, and so much the better if he takes some Death Eaters with him. I haven't been trained for that. I'm not an Auror, or a Hit Wizard, or an Unspeakable. Hell, I'm not even the damned Ministry janitor. But even the Minister himself wants me to come in and be the poster child for a war that everyone wants to fight but no one is willing to. Well, if no one else will then it necessarily falls to me. You call it vigilantism; I call it protecting me and mine. These people have already taken my parents, my godfather, and my brother from me; they will not take any more of the people I love as long as I have a say in the matter.

"Second, you know as well as I do that the Ministry either can't or won't do fuck-all about this thing with Malfoy. You, perhaps better than anyone in this room, understand just how much corruption, bigotry, ignorance, and incompetence exists there. Lucius Malfoy's money and power, even with him being 'disgraced'" Harry made air quotes as he said the word "and in Azkaban, will see to it that the truth is never set free, that justice isn't done. The system will fail Ron just like it has failed me in the past. Just like it has failed you, Remus, and Katie, and Sirius, and who knows who else.

"So what else can I possibly do that will allow me to sleep at night? If either of you know of something, _anything_ , please tell me."

"You've met Scrimgeour and Robards; you know they're on your side now," Tonks tried.

"Scrimgeour is a politician, and Robards is bound by the same laws as you, Tonks. And this wouldn't be decided by either of them anyway but by the courts, which you know are owned by people like Malfoy and run by people like Umbridge."

"I just don't want you doing something you'll regret later, Harry," Tonks offered meekly.

"And I appreciate that, Tonks, but the only thing I regret with regard to Draco Malfoy is not pulling the truth out of him right after Katie was hurt," Harry growled in response. "If I had just listened to myself Ron would still be alive."

"Harry, you don't know that, and you still don't know for sure he did anything," Hermione stated, trying to be the voice of reason.

"I know, Hermione. But that's what I'm talking about. Making sure I'm right, and then making sure he gets what he deserves." He looked over at Tonks, who seemed very uncomfortable with the whole topic. "Tonks?" He ventured tentatively, and the Auror looked over at him. "I know I'm talking pretty hard, but please trust me enough to do what I think is right." She closed her eyes for a few moments before taking a deep breath and nodding slightly.

"I think we should table this discussion for now," Remus interrupted, desperate to again change the subject before the law woman in the room was forced to take some kind of action. "Harry, Molly and Arthur would like for you to stop by the Burrow tomorrow if you can. They're understandably upset about what happened but none of that is directed at you; they believe, the same as all of us, that you did what you had to do." Harry nodded his head to acknowledge he'd heard the older man but otherwise stayed silent. "And on the Voldemort front, you know that if there's anything you need done while you're still at Hogwarts you just let me know and I'll see what I can do."

"Well, I'd love it if the two of you would agree to train me up a bit? Remus, you were an amazing Defense teacher, and Tonks you're an Auror. I'm sure I could learn a lot from the two of you, and I'm also sure I'm going to need it." Both adults readily agreed, if any to make sure they kept tabs on the boy, and they made a tentative plan to start once Summer Term began. "Remus, do you know how to make those two-way mirrors like the one Sirius gave me?" Harry asked, his heart aching at the thought that he could have prevented so much if he'd just remembered to open the package and had found the damned mirror. "That would make it easier for us to talk."

Remus smiled. "I think I still have the potion recipe and the rune patterns written down somewhere," he answered. "It'll take me some time to dig them up, but it should be doable."

"Brilliant. And on that note, I know it's still a bit early but I'm going to turn in."

"You're staying here?" Tonks asked incredulously.

"Yeah. My first meeting with Hermione's parents was a little . . . strained, and even if we've settled the initial differences I'm not going to try and push it by asking to sleep in the room across the hall from her."

"Did they catch you doing the horizontal mambo?" Tonks asked as she wiggled her eyebrows.

"No, Harry beat up my dad before hanging him upside down and putting the fear of God into him," Hermione responded, smirking as both Tonks's and Remus's eyes got huge.

"To be fair to him, he _thought_ we had done the horizontal mambo," Harry offered. "Still, he deserved it; he was being an arsehole."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded.

"Am I wrong?"

"Well . . . no . . . but he got better."

"Yeah, after I hung him upside down and put the fear of God into him. If only everyone was that easy," Harry grumbled the last part.

"I'm sure there could have been a less combative way to accomplish that."

Harry shrugged. "My way was faster."

"Anyway," Tonks interrupted, "do you want us to stay here with you? There are rooms set aside for the Order."

Harry thought about it a moment before shaking his head. "No, I think I'll be okay. You guys go on home. We'll catch back up tomorrow, let's say for lunch? We can go to the Burrow after that."

"Sure Harry," Remus answered as he stood up. "Try to get some sleep, and we'll see you in the morning." Everyone in the room stood and exchanged hugs before the older two people left. Once they had, Hermione turned toward Harry.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

"I'm sure I _do_ want you to stay," Harry replied as he wrapped his arms around her. "But you see your parents rarely enough as it is, I can't ask you to. You should seize every opportunity to be with your family."

Hermione's response to that small bit of selflessness was to kiss the man she loved deeply. "I love you, Harry."

"I love you too Hermione Jean. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

Hermione nodded and Harry walked her to the door. One last kiss and she walked across the street to the small park there. The crack of Apparition signaled her departure, and Harry closed the door quickly before resting his head against it. He _really_ didn't want her to leave, and he _really_ didn't want to stay at Grimmauld Place, especially alone, but he knew Hermione and her family needed each other right now; it was the best way for her to continue her healing process. Harry knew that he also needed time to heal, but despite her father's change of attitude after Harry had . . . explained everything to them. . . he felt like he was intruding at the Grangers and would just gum up the works for both Hermione and her parents if he were there.

And so Harry turned from the door, slogged himself upstairs to the room he and Ron had shared before Fifth Year, and collapsed on the bed before drifting off into a fitful sleep.

{-}

A few hours later found Hermione tossing and turning in her own bed. She'd returned home and had a deep discussion with her parents about a number of topics. Harry and her relationship with him. Ron. The events of the last week. Her future plans. Her continued schooling. Whether they should pack up and abandon Britain. There had been a few laughs but a larger number of tears, and the strain of the day had finally hit Hermione hard, so much so that for the first time since she was 9 her father had carried her upstairs to bed. Deep sleep eluded her though; she either couldn't get comfortable or couldn't get her mind to stop whirring or both. Mostly she found herself worrying about Harry, about whether he was okay. It occurred to her that this was the first night they had spent apart since Ron died, and if his reaction to being alone was anything like hers they'd have to figure something out for the future, since they wouldn't always be able to spend the night together.

There was something she could do in the present, however. Still dressed in the comfortable clothes she had been wearing since their shower earlier she walked downstairs. After scribbling a quick note for her parents letting them know she'd be back for breakfast she then left the house, walking a short distance away before Apparating back to the park outside Grimmauld Place. She entered the old manor quietly and stole upstairs, somehow knowing what room Harry would be in. Sure enough, she found him in the second floor bedroom and, like she had guessed, he was tossing and turning, either unconsciously looking for a comfortable position or caught in one of his (unfortunately many) nightmares. Debating with herself for a moment, she then quickly shed her shoes and bra and crawled into bed beside Harry. She reached for him and, even asleep, he instinctively reached back for her, pulling her tightly to him and immediately settling down into a much calmer sleep. She kissed his temple lightly and settled in next to him, finally drifting off herself with his arms wrapped lovingly around her, to the sound and sensation that had soothed her to sleep every night since last Saturday; Harry's steady heartbeat.

{-}

The Sun was just peaking through the dirty window in the room as Harry slowly came to, and a smile immediately came across his face as he noticed his field of vision impaired by Hermione's brown hair. She was cuddled into him, her wonderful body pressed tightly against him as she used the left side of his chest as her pillow. Unlike that first morning they had woken up together there was no panic from him at his reaction to her presence so close to him; after their moments of closeness in the last week, and especially yesterday, he didn't feel like there was much left to be embarrassed about. He ran his hand up and down her spine softly and was entranced by the soft mewing sound she made as she started to wake up. She turned her head up to his as she pushed her body forward, catching his lips in what started out as a soft 'good morning' kiss that gradually became more intense as the minutes passed. When their kiss finally ended Hermione has lost her sweatpants and was astride him, a few thin pieces of fabric all that separated them from taking their budding romance to an entirely new level. Both were panting as their foreheads touched, her hands on either side of his head and Harry's firmly attached to the smooth skin of her hips just above the waistline of her knickers. As had happened so many times through the course of their friendship, a conversation without words took place between them as they tried to catch their breath. It was Harry who finally gave voice to their exchange.

"Not yet, love," he said softly and simply.

"I know," Hermione responded. "This is all too new, and we both are still way too emotional to approach this with any sense of rationality."

Harry nodded in agreement "But when we're ready . . ."

"Together."

"Together," Harry repeated before pulling her down for another loving kiss.

{-}

A short while later, as the teens got up to begin their day, Harry noticed they were not alone. "Hedwig!" he exclaimed upon seeing his snowy owl waiting and resting on the far bedpost. Her large yellow eyes took in her human as he approached, and she held out her leg for him to take what she carried. "I'm sorry I don't have any treats for you girl. Did you manage to get any hunting done last night?" A bark that seemed to be an affirmative had Harry smiling at her. "Good girl," he said as he gently pet her for a moment before turning back toward Hermione, who had re-dressed herself properly and was sitting cross-legged on the bed. He walked back toward her as he opened the missive Hedwig had brought him.

"Anything good?" she asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.

". . . maybe?" he replied tentatively. "It's from Gringotts. They want me to stop by and discuss my letter. Nothing about whether they agree or if they want to beat me senseless, though."

"Well, only one way to find out. Depending on how long we are at the Burrow we might be able to go later today; otherwise it may have to wait a couple of weeks until Easter Break. And we need to talk to the Twins, too; we really need to see if we can get their Portkey idea off the ground."

Any response Harry might have had was interrupted by a loud _crack_ and a heavy weight landing on the other bed, disturbing a resting Hedwig who fluttered over to on top of the dresser. As the creaking from the old bedsprings settled they saw Kreacher with a look that could only be described as 'smugly evil' standing on top of a writhing burlap sack. "Kreacher has brought the thief to Master as he asked."

"Let me outta here you bleedin' menace!" came a muffled cry from the sack.

" _Petrificus Totalus,_ " a now-standing Hermione intoned with her wand pointed at the sack, and it suddenly went quiet and very rigid.

"Excellent job, Kreacher. Truly well done," Harry said to Kreacher. "Why don't you stick around and we'll see what the sack has to say for itself?" Kreacher seemed to take a rather perverse pleasure in stomping down on the sack below him as hard as he could as he stepped off of who they assumed was a now-Petrified Mundungus Fletcher. A quick Cutting Charm to open the sack confirmed that, and with a look similar to the one Kreacher had when he'd arrived Harry looked down at the stock-still Order member. "Hello again, Dung. We never got to finish our last conversation, so I thought now would be an excellent opportunity for you to explain why you felt inclined to steal from me, and how you're going to make it right. I'll warn you now that if I don't like your answers I'm going to let Kreacher get the truth out of you. He is also most displeased that you've stolen from the House of Black." The captive's eyes shot toward the old house elf, who was standing on the bed looking at him with a maniacal gleam that promised that Dung would not enjoy that at all. "Now, let's get started. Hermione, if you would do the honors?"

" _Expelliarmus. Incarcerous. Petrificus Discoperiere,_ " Hermione intoned in order, Mundungus's wand flying to her hand before ropes bound him. The Full-Body Bind being lifted saw him begin talking rapid-fire.

"Whatcha doin' all that for? I ain't done noffin' wrong," he said with conviction. "Whassa matter which'u, siccing a bloody 'ouse elf on me?"

"Dung, listen to me very closely," Harry said, grabbing the man's head and bringing his own very close, fighting off his gag reflex at the smell of tobacco, alcohol, and bad hygiene the man gave off. "Yesterday I declared war on the Death Eaters, put a Bludger-sized hole through Bellatrix Lestrange's chest, and made Voldemort piss his robes and run away." Harry wasn't positive about the last one, that it was fear that caused Riddle to flee, but he knew that was the story making the rounds and decided to use it to his advantage in this instance. "I really haven't got time for your bullshit, so I'm going to ask once, and if you don't answer me quickly and truthfully, Hermione and I are going to go have breakfast while Kreacher asks you, understand? Good. Now: Where. Is. The. Locket. That. You. Stole?"

Mundungus was all set to try and bluff his way out of it like he always did, until he saw the look in Harry's eyes. Dung was a survivor, and he managed that by knowing his place in the food chain; who he could shine on and who he should avoid. And right now, despite his captor's age, he knew he was staring into the eyes of a very hacked-off Alpha predator; bluffing was a one-way road to pain, of that he was sure. "I gave it to some Ministry witch so that she didn't take me in for floggin' me wares without a license."

"What was her name?"

"No name. Didn't want to know. Just wanted her to be on her merry. Ugly bird, though. Reminded me of a giant pink toad."

Harry let Dung go and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to stave off the coming headache. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Behind him, Hermione flopped down on the bed before burying her head in her hands. "Harry," she began, "what could you possibly have done in a past life to make your karma like an episode of the Benny Hill Show?"

"I'm not sure, but I'd like to have words with myself about it if I ever meet me. But at least there's one good thing."

"Oh? And what, pray tell, would that be Mr. Potter?"

"She's already such an evil bitch that it's not likely the locket is going to adversely affect her. And if it does, I really don't care. Actually, a small part of me kind of hopes that it eats her soul, as small and disgusting a meal as that would be."

"Huh. You're right, that does make me feel a bit better. But Harry, and know that I say this with all the love in my heart; if our first date turns out to be toad hunting Pomfrey will need a month to fix what I'll do to you."

"Duly noted, love." Harry smirked as he looked over at her. "What about the second date?"

* * *

A/N: As I hope you've all figured out by now, I'm trying hard not to bash too hard on popular fanfic targets and give them "reasonable" (yes I lose that term a bit loosely) explanations for why events surrounding Harry's life have played out like they have. This chapter was my stab at the "Where the F was Remus all those years" chapter.

As always, thank you for you follows, favorites, views, and reviews.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I know, I know, I know . . .

* * *

"Harry Potter have you lost your Merlin-be-damned mind?!" Tonks yelled from the bedroom doorway Harry had just walked through.

He turned to her, an innocent and inquisitive look on his face. "What? What did I do?"

"You've kidnapped a man!" she responded hotly, pointing at the still tightly bound and gagged Mundungus Fletcher that was laying on the same bed Kreacher had deposited him on earlier that day.

"I most certainly did not," Harry replied with his hands on his hips as if affronted.

"Then how do you explain that?" Tonks said, still pointing at Dung.

"Citizen's arrest," the teen answered.

Tonks opened her mouth to retort, then clapped it shut with an audible click as her teeth came together. She blinked a few times, then turned back toward him, and was just about to respond when Harry continued.

"Besides, technically it was Kreacher who kidnapped him," Harry said with a smile.

"Ugh," the Auror groaned, before turning and walking back into the hallway.

"Uhh . . . Tonks?" Harry began hesitantly, moving to follow her. "Aren't you going to . . . you know . . . take him in or something?"

"He's not going anywhere," she answered. "And Dung's been picked up by the DMLE so many times I'm sure he's used to it by now. Besides, I'm on my lunch break, so for the next –" she looked at her watch, "47 minutes I'm not an on-duty Auror."

"Oh, good," Harry said as they descended the stairs down to the kitchen, "because there's something I wanted to talk to you about and discussing it with an Auror might not be the best idea." Tonks stopped 3 steps from the bottom and turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Lunch first. I thought you were hungry," Harry said as he continued past her. Low growling was the only response he got to his last jibe. "It'll be fine. I seem to remember passing a takeout place not far. We can order from . . ."

Tonks didn't notice that Harry had stopped mid-sentence as she walked into the kitchen. She did however notice that he'd stopped dead in his tracks when she ran right into the back of him, as he was taking up the doorway. After steadying herself and looking around him, she couldn't blame him for being a bit stunned. The previously dirty and disheveled room was now spotless, and on the kitchen table there was platter after platter of food, ranging from simple sandwiches to what appeared to be a steaming Beef Wellington. Against the wall nearby leaned Remus, silently chuckling at their expressions, while at the far end of the table Kreacher was floating what appeared to be a tureen of some kind of soup onto one of the few open spots on the tabletop.

"Errr . . . Kreacher?" Harry began, "not that I'm not thankful, and not that this doesn't all look amazing, but what brought this on?" Putting aside Harry still being pissed that Kreacher had basically sold Sirius out to Bellatrix and Narcissa, until bringing in Dung the elf hadn't been the least bit helpful in the two years he'd known him, so this seemed exceedingly out of character. In Harry's experience, that usually equated to trouble.

"Half-blood Master will retrieve Master Regulus's locket and help Kreacher fulfill Master Regulus's last command. Half-blood Master is unafraid to do what is needed to avenge wrongs against the House of Black and reclaim what is rightfully ours. Half-blood Master will take our vengeance against he who killed Master Regulus. Half-blood Master killed Miss Bella, but she dared to attack the head of her true family and was punished for doing so. Half-blood Master has the heart of a true Black. Kreacher will serve."

"Well . . . thanks . . . I think," Harry stuttered, not really sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Tonks, meanwhile, had already taken a seat, served herself a slice of the Wellington, and was chewing with her eyes closed and an almost indecent expression on her face. "Merlin, this is amazing. Harry, you're forgiven for kidnapping Dung."

"Brilliant," he responded as he took a seat across from her, pulling a dish of roast toward himself. "With that out of the way and settled, how do you feel about aiding and abetting in the assault and robbery of a senior Ministry official, probably within the heart of the Ministry building itself?"

Remus's hand repeatedly slapping her back was the only thing that kept Tonks from choking on the piece of Wellington that had gone down the wrong pipe in her shock at Harry's statement. For his part, after making sure she was in fact okay the teen attacked the meal in front of him with gusto. After several minutes of coughing and a long drink of water, the Metamorphmagus turned her attention back to the black-haired wizard.

"Harry, I know you said a lot of questionable things about Draco last night, and I'm giving you some slack about Dung, but what you just asked is really serious," she began in earnest. "I can't just turn a blind eye to your threat to attack a Ministry worker. Hell, if the person is high enough up the food chain it could be even worse for you, with some serious time in Azkaban. I know you're getting buddy-buddy with Scrimgeour and Robards, but they won't be able to protect you if you go through with something like that. What on Earth would make you ask me of all people that question?" she asked, her voice rising. "Of all of the irresponsible, reckless, crazy things that I've heard about you over the years this has to be the most –"

"It's Umbridge," Harry stated simply.

For the second time that day Tonks's jaw clapped shut at something Harry said. "Can we do it today?" she asked after a few seconds, an eager gleam in her eye. Harry could only laugh as he moved another forkful of the wonderful meal Kreacher had prepared into his mouth.

{-}

Tonks let Dung go after a promise that he'd keep his mouth shut about what happened, a promise Dung was more than eager to give after Harry's added incentives; that he could keep the profits from everything he'd taken from Grimmauld Place and that Kreacher wouldn't be nearly so forgiving if he had to track Dung down again. After the wretch's departure Kreacher was able to quickly tailor a set of Sirius's robes to fit Harry before he and Remus Apparated to the Granger house, Tonks having to return to work. After picking up Hermione the trio made their way to Diagon Alley, where Hermione ensconced herself in the backroom of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and began eagerly absorbing the research notes the Twins and their ladies had collected to date regarding their Portkey project. Nearly oblivious to the outside world, she gave Harry a distracted kiss before he headed off to the white marble edifice that housed Gringotts bank, Remus coming along so that he wouldn't be out in the Alley by himself. Harry knew that, if Hermione hadn't been so engrossed by what she was looking at that she would have been much more reticent to let him go. As it was, he expected a proper bollocking upon his return when she came up for air and realized where he'd gone, and that he'd leveraged her particular flavor of Kryptonite in order to do so without her.

As Harry and Remus waited for a teller, the teen recalled what had made him contact the goblins in the first place; one of Caleb's lessons.

" _The_ Kriegsmager _are warriors, battle mages who spend a lifetime honing their deadly art. Victory against your opponent is not only achieved on the battlefield, however"_ the war mage had relayed. _"You must not only destroy his armies; you must destroy his ability and his will to fight. Strangle his supply lines. Drain his coffers. Remove his political power. Ruin reputations. Ruin plans. Ruin businesses. Ruin marriages. Ruin families. Do whatever is within your power to distract. Demoralize. Defund. And, eventually, defeat._

" _To that end, there is no race in all the magical world that is better at destroying their enemies, in all senses of the word, than the goblins. Though for the last two centuries they've been known to wizardkind in Britain as bankers, the_ Kriegsmagier _know better. Members of my order have fought both with and against goblins at various times through history, and it is only the stifling mandates placed upon them with the founding of the Wizengamot at the beginning of the 16_ _th_ _century that has relegated them to their current status in Brittania. To most of the rest of the world, however, they are known as masters at exploiting their opponents' pain points, weakening them before they ever step onto the field to strike the killing blow. I myself have gone to war both alongside and against the goblins, and I know which one I vastly prefer."_ Those words of praise, spoken by a man many wizards and witches apparently considered the best battle wand that has ever lived, were what prompted Harry's letter. But he and Hermione both suspected that the subject he was going to bring up might not be something the goblins would want to talk about, hence his comment earlier that day about getting beaten up.

Harry had asked Remus to wait in the lobby as the teenager was shown into the office of one of the floor managers a short time later, a possibly angry/possibly ambivalent goblin (it was hard to tell with them) seated across a very nice oak desk from them. "What do you want, wizard? Your letter said you needed to talk, so . . . talk," the goblin opened without preamble.

"Manager Krek, I'd like to discuss the war with the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort."

"A war the goblins have no part in," the manager responded quickly. "A war the goblins want no part in."

"You would allow the current government of magical Britain to fall?"

The goblin sneered. "What has your government ever done for us?" Krek shook his head. "No, the stance of Gringotts is that if wizards wish to kill each other with reckless abandon then we should let them. Whichever side wins will still need gold. I ask again, what do you want?"

Harry nodded, not really surprised at the response; if Binns had taught him anything it was that the animosity between wizards and goblins was strong and long-lived. He needed all the help he could get, though, and so decided to take the risk. "I've come to inquire about the _Kaluresh._ "

The goblin's eyes got as big as saucers and a feral snarling visage overcame his face. "How do you know that name, wizard?" Krek growled.

"A very specialized history lesson."

Krek stood and started stalking around the desk; Harry involuntarily gulped as he saw that a short sword had appeared in his hand from somewhere. "Unless the history lessons have changed at Hogwarts in the last hundred years the only thing you'd have learned about my people is the ridiculous names your kind have given to some of our greatest heroes." The sword point raised ominously. "Tell the truth, wizard."

'Goblin steel through the gut' was supposed to be an exaggeration; Harry didn't think a banker would actually have a _bloody freaking sword_ behind his desk. "That is the truth," Harry answered quickly, the realization that he'd be dead before he could stand or draw his wand keeping him in his chair. "We discovered the lost diaries of Lord Marshal Caleb Longbottom, which contained some lessons as well." _That's close enough to the truth_ Harry thought. "One such lesson spoke of the _Kaluresh_ and their place in war. We, wizardkind, are at war. I am at war. My friends, my family, everyone I care about is at war. And if we fail, Voldemort won't stop with Britain; his ego won't let him stay content with just the island for long. From Caleb's lessons, that sounds like something the _Kaluresh_ would very much get involved in."

Harry sighed, partially in defeat and partially in disgruntlement. "There have been hints and rumors that there is a prophecy concerning myself and Voldemort. Well, I can tell you that is 100% true; I'm the only one that can beat him. I can't run. I _won't_ run. I will kill him or die trying. I'd much rather it be the former, but for that to come to pass I need every weapon I can get my hands on, and so I came to Gringotts to inquire about the _Kaluresh._ "

Krek stopped his approach and observed the teen, though the sword was still held menacingly in his grip. "The _Kaluresh_ have not been called to service in Britain since Lord Marshal Longbottom's time," Krek finally said. "Indeed, no government in the world has summoned them since 1815."

"But they still exist, yes?"

The manager bore his gaze into Harry and took several deep breaths. "Yes, they still exist. Their services require the approval of the High King of the Goblin Nation."

"What can I do to help with that approval?" Harry asked, praying that he had something to offer to help make this work.

The manager returned to his seat and Harry felt his heart start beating again. "There is perhaps something," he began, and Harry already didn't like the look on the goblin's face. "It has reached our ears that the sword of Ragnuk the First has been found. The item you wizards call the Sword of Gryffindor," the manager continued at Harry's questioning head tilt.

"It has," Harry admitted. "Four years ago it came to me in the Chamber of Secrets when I fought Slytherin's Monster. It's currently at Hogwarts in the Headmaster's Office."

The goblin nodded. "Return it to us, and we may discuss the service of the _Kaluresh_."

Harry nodded in agreement. He had no use for a sword, and honestly it mattered little to him whose wall the artifact hung on. "I will speak to the Headmaster when I return to Hogwarts. It may be the term break before I am able to bring it here."

"That is acceptable, wizard," Manager Krek said. "In the meantime, I will bring your request to the king and see what he says." With that, the goblin pointed at the door. "We're done." Harry stood and tipped his head in a slight bow before heading as calmly as he could out of the office and, after grabbing Remus, out of the bank. It didn't matter how many times his life was in jeopardy, it wasn't something you got used to. He might have accomplished his goal, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to ask the Twins for a shot of whatever they had in the store when he got there to help settle his jangled nerves.

{-}

The rest of the weekend had been long but fulfilling for both teens. Friday afternoon at the Burrow had really helped to settle Harry; Molly simply hugging him as soon as he walked in the door went a long way toward soothing his still hurting soul. Arthur's fatherly embrace afterward just reinforced that the Weasleys were accepting of what Harry had had to do and thought no less of him for it. Ginny seemed friendly enough but distant; he figured walking through the door holding hands with Hermione might have had something to do with it, even though the redhead was still with Dean. Harry himself was surprised by his own reaction upon first seeing her; he still felt affection and even attraction toward her but the . . . hunger he'd felt inside for her previously was gone. He wasn't particularly distraught by that, not with Hermione's warm body snuggled up against him on the couch while the family shared afternoon tea.

That evening Harry braved having dinner with Hermione and her parents. Though they'd started off rocky, with that event and its repercussions behind them Harry discovered that he enjoyed their company, especially Catherine's. She was intelligent and engaging, and much more approachable than almost any other adult female he'd ever met. He'd helped her with dinner, and as father and daughter worked on dishes and cleanup they'd had a thoroughly enjoyable conversation that left the teen with a warm feeling inside. While he had started calling Molly 'Mum' he honestly had no idea how it felt having a mother figure. He appreciated how Molly was very expressive of her love for her children in any number of ways; physically, vocally, and in her actions; he felt a very strong emotional attachment to the matriarch of the Weasley clan. But at the same time he thought Cat's easygoing nature and sharp insights were also very appealing. He wondered if, had she lived, his own mother would have been some amalgam of both women.

Saturday morning and afternoon were again spent with the Grangers; Harry had never been to Cambridge before and so found some of the history of the City much more interesting than anything he'd learned in Binns's class. The evening was spent with Tonks and Remus, solidifying plans for them to get together over the Easter holidays and see what the teens had managed to learn from the War Room before that; it was always better to be able to practice what you learned. Plans were also discussed for how to get the Locket back from Umbridge, with that mission also set to take place during the break before Summer Term.

Very early Sunday found both teens sneaking back into Hogwarts using the Invisibility Cloak. They knew as soon as their presence was known they'd be either watched (by all the gawkers who'd read the Prophet over the last few days), summoned (by Dumbledore), or smothered (Luna being the most likely culprit for that one). Before any of that, however, Harry hoped to achieve one of his tasks, so leaving Hermione in the hallway to the Room of Requirement he made his way to a set of rooms he'd really hoped never to have to enter again. They were the rooms where Ron had died just over a week before. _God, has it only been a week?_ he thought to himself as he moved toward his goal.

{-}

Horace Slughorn had his usual Sunday lie-in, tying his dressing gown tightly and heading into his opulent sitting room, where he intended to ask an elf to bring him his breakfast. His surprise was total when he stepped in to see Harry Potter seated in one of the chairs by the fire, another chair across from him and a table with light breakfast items between them. "Good morning, Professor. I hope you don't mind, but I let myself in." That was a half-truth; Dobby had popped into the room and unlocked the door for him, but Slughorn didn't need to know that. "I was hoping that we could re-open the conversation that we can't seem to finish." He indicated the other chair with his hand. "Please."

Slughorn warily approached the teen wizard. "Harry, my boy, this is highly unusual, and not a little disturbing that you've come into my private chambers without permission."

"I find it even more unusual and disturbing that I have to once again ask you for your true memory of what you told Tom Riddle about Horcruxes all those years ago," Harry retorted. "I find it unusual and disturbing that you would continue to help the man who murdered my parents take over this country."

Slughorn recoiled as if slapped, and luckily he was already in front of the other chair as his legs seemed to give out and he crashed down into it. "How can you say that, Harry? How can you even think that?"

"What else am I supposed to think, Professor? This is a war now, and I need every advantage I can get my hands on to fight it. In this case, the weapon I need is information, information only you have. You not giving it to me might as well be the same as you being a Death Eater." Harry sighed. "I'm sure you've read the paper the last few days. I'm sure you've seen the headlines." The Potions Professor could only nod dumbly. "Well, I'll give you another one, Professor. I am the Chosen One. I'm the one the Fates decided to kick in the stones by saying 'only this boy can beat one of the most evil men who's ever lived.' I'm not being given a choice; this is now kill or be killed. And as for everyone else, you're either with me," Harry stared at the man hard, "or you're against me. There is no middle ground anymore, sir. There's no room for indecision or hedging your bets."

The teen examined the man across from him, who was pale, sweating, and breathing heavily despite the moderate temperature in the room. Harry sighed. "I understand you're afraid, professor. We're all afraid. Hell, I'm bloody terrified. But isn't that why you came to Hogwarts, sir? You didn't want to join him, and so you came where you'd be safe. You chose your side then, even if you don't realize it. And he knows it. Whether you tell me what you know or not, Tom Riddle knows that you have information that could help defeat him. You can tell him you've kept your mouth shut until you're blue in the face, he's still going to kill you if he gets the chance. The only way you get to live to enjoy the rest of your retirement is if Tom Riddle is dead. So _help me_ , professor. Help me win this war. Help me get justice for my mother and father, and everyone else who has had the strength to stand against the dark." Harry stopped there, afraid that if he pushed the corpulent old man any more that he might suffer a stroke.

There was a long silence between them, Harry watching the professor as his breathing slowed and his color returned. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brow. "It's . . . more than fear the has kept me from telling, dear boy," Slughorn began. "Even then, Tom Riddle was a master manipulator, and because of that I revealed far too much about a subject no one has any right to know about. Only after, when I saw the look in his eyes, and then much later when I saw what he had become, did I understand the damage I wrought that day. Not just fear, Mr. Potter. Shame. Raw, unadulterated shame stayed my hand from telling what I know all these years. I was ashamed of my actions; now, I find myself even more ashamed by my inactions." Slughorn pointed his wand toward a desk on the other side of the room, and an ampoule flew into his hand. He then turned his wand to his forehead and closed his eyes, and as Harry watched a long silver memory strand curl itself around the shaft of wood. The older man then slid his wand tip to the container, filling it with the information Harry sought. A shaking hand then reached across the small table as the elder wizard leaned forward. "I am sorry, Harry," he said simply.

Harry took the vial and smiled at the professor. "I forgive you, Professor. And, for what it's worth, I believe my mother would forgive you as well." With that, the Boy-Who-Lived stood and walked toward the door. As he closed it behind him, he heard the sound of quiet weeping from the room he had just left.

{-}

Instead of heading straight for the Headmaster's Office, Harry headed back to the Room and Hermione. He saw the door to the War Room appear as he approached and, upon entering, saw Hermione at the conference table perusing one of the many books the room offered. But he also felt something; a sensation like when he'd entered Grimmauld Place Thursday evening.

There was the 'scent' of a Horcrux somewhere nearby.

Hermione looked up from her reading and saw Harry staring around the room seemingly in confusion. She immediately marked her page and closed the book before rising and walking over to him. Her arms wrapped around him from behind as her head rested on his left shoulder. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"I think . . . I think there's a Horcrux in the Room."

"Really?" she said, turning herself to survey the space. "Are you sure?"

"Not sure, no. And it's not in _this_ incarnation of the Room. Whatever magic allows the room to form what it's asked for, there must be some bleed over amongst them. I highly doubt Voldemort found the War Room, but he may have found a room good enough to hide one of them in."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "So, how do we get to it?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe we just ask?"

"Okay. But what kind of room would a psychotic, narcissistic megalomaniac hide a piece of his soul in such that no one could find it?"

Harry's eyes blinked a few times rapidly as he contemplated the question. "If it were me, I'd just ask for a room to hide it in. My asking for this room was proof enough that the castle can produce rooms with rather vague requests."

"Could it be that easy?"

"Only one way to find out," he said. He checked the Map to make sure no one was near the corridor before he took her hand and they exited the War Room. As soon as the door disappeared, Harry began pacing back and forth. _I need a place to hide something. Something important. Something I don't want anyone to be able to find._ On his third pass a plan wooden door appeared and he smiled triumphantly. Opening the door and stepping inside, his eyes widened in shock, as did Hermione's when she beheld the space that had been created. The room was gigantic and filled floor to ceiling with every manner of object and detritus imaginable.

Hermione whistled in amazement before turning to look at Harry. He had his eyes closed and was breathing in and out deeply. "Is it here, Harry?"

"I think so," he responded. She allowed him to lead her through the narrow corridors that existed between the mountains of lost, broken, and illegal items that made up the contents of the room. The pathways twisted and turned through the piles, and they hit a few dead ends before Harry stopped them. Before them was a bust of a supremely ugly wizard, and on his head was a tarnished headpiece. "That," he said, pointing at what the bust was wearing. "That's it."

"We need Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said immediately. "We have no idea how to destroy one of these things, and we're pretty sure he's already taken care of at least one. He'll know what to do." Harry nodded; he had hoped to keep their presence in the castle quiet a little longer, but Hermione was correct that they needed the Headmaster to deal with this particular problem. Afraid to touch the thing, and confident they would be able to find their way again after retrieving the elder wizard, the couple quickly left the room and made their way across the seventh floor of the castle to the gargoyle that protected the entrance to the Headmaster's Office. They discovered a flaw in their plan, though, as neither knew the password.

Suddenly Harry snapped his fingers. He'd already gotten past one locked door today, maybe the same 'key' would work here as well. "Dobby," he called, and with a loud _pop_ the elf appeared next to them.

"Is there something you be needing, Harry Potter sir?" Dobby asked.

"There is, Dobby. Can you see if the Headmaster is awake and, if so, can you let him know that Hermione and I are down here and need to speak with him as soon as possible?"

"Of course Harry Potter sir," the diminutive creature said before again popping away. Only a few minutes later the gargoyle moved aside and the teens rode the rotating staircase up to the office. The door was already open, so they walked inside.

Behind the desk sat Dumbledore, already dressed for the day. A guarded smile appeared on his face. "Good morning Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. I was not aware you had made your way back to the castle yet today. I trust that your days away from Hogwarts have been beneficial?"

"They have, Headmaster, and we'll discuss that a bit later. However, at the moment a more pressing item has arisen." At Dumbledore's raised eyebrow, Hermione continued. "We've found a Horcrux in the castle."

The headmaster jumped up out of his chair at that news. "You have? Where?"

"If you'll follow us, sir, we'll show you," Harry answered, and with the older man's nod the three quickly made their way back to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls. Harry once again made the door appear, and explained to Dumbledore how they had been able to discover it while they navigated the twists and turns back to their target.

Upon reaching it, Dumbledore carefully approached it with wand drawn. A few deft movements and mumbled incantations and he turned back toward his two students. "It is indeed a Horcrux. But even more amazing than that, I believe this is the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. How Tom might have gotten his hands on it is a mystery, it's supposedly been lost for centuries." At Harry's look and raised eyebrows, Albus nodded. "Of course, a mystery indeed, but one that does not need solving today." The headmaster turned back toward the diadem and Transfigured the ugly wizard bust into a sturdy looking box that now surrounded the diadem. "We shall take this back to my office immediately and destroy it." Both agreed, and another quick jaunt across the castle found them with Dumbledore pulling the Sword of Gryffindor down from its place on the wall in his office. He explained himself as he proceeded. "Horcruxes are particularly difficult to destroy; as they contain a portion of a human soul, which is itself believed to be indestructible, the dark magic that creates them imbues some of that into the object itself. The only way to truly rid the object of that taint is to damage it beyond the ability of magic to repair. Therefore, only exceedingly powerful methods can be used, methods that have no or unique counters. Fiendfyre, for example, has no counterspell and is only extinguished when its fuel has run out. Likewise, Basilisk venom has only one antidote, and it is exceedingly rare."

"Phoenix tears," Harry said immediately.

"Correct. With the Horcrux in your scar having been destroyed," Dumbledore winced at that comment, remembering too late that this would be a temperamental subject between them, but he kept going. "With it destroyed, I'm not sure if you'll still be able to speak Parseltongue, as that may have been an ability granted to you by the Horcrux. Perhaps not, but that is yet another mystery for another day." Albus held up the sword. "The Sword of Gryffindor is goblin-made, meaning that the metal is enchanted to only take in that which makes it stronger. When you stabbed the basilisk with it, Harry, you imbued it with the power of the creature's venom. Hence, it is able to destroy Horcruxes." The explanation complete, Dumbledore levitated a small table to the middle of the room and then the box holding the diadem onto the table. A few waves of his wand Vanished the box, leaving just the decrepit looking piece of jewelry waiting for the killing blow to fall.

The headmaster paused for a second before turning and offering the sword to Harry. "This is your discovery and your fight now, Harry. I know we have much to discuss, but let us be rid of this evil first." Nodding to the elder wizard, Harry took the sword that he had not held in nearly four years and somehow felt like he was saying hello to an old friend again; the weapon certainly fit better in his hands now than it had when he was twelve. Turning back to his target, he drew the sword over his head, his right hand tight on the grip while his left encircled the ruby-encrusted pommel for additional power and control. He swore he saw the diadem tremble slightly as his swung powerfully and true, the deadly sharp blade of the ancient weapon connecting solidly with the large sapphire at the item's center. The gem shattered, and all three occupants of the room stepped back as a dark, thick substance oozed from the broken Horcrux. The diadem began to shake in earnest, and the wizards and witch heard a faint scream of pain as the object stilled, laying broken on the table.

Dumbledore approached it and ran his checks again. He turned back to the other two with a smile. "The Horcrux is destroyed. Well done, Harry."

"Thank you, sir," the teen responded, turning and putting the deadly weapon in his hands down onto the Headmaster's desk. He had said he would return it to the goblins in return for the assistance of the _Kaluresh_ , but now that he knew it was their primary method of destroying Horcruxes that decision became much more difficult. If only they knew how many more Horcruxes there were . . .

 _Oh, wait . . ._

"Sir, we have another piece of news to relay to you this morning," Harry said as he pulled the vial with Slughorn's memory from his pocket and held it up triumphantly.

"Harry, is that –"

"It is."

With the speed of a man half his age, Dumbledore moved to the cabinet that held the Pensieve, retrieving it from its space and placing it on the table next to the destroyed diadem. Harry and Hermione approached and, at Albus's nod, uncorked the ampoule and poured the memory into the device. Taking deep breaths, both teens dove into Horace Slughorn's unedited memory of the night he'd told Voldemort about Horcruxes. The Headmaster quickly followed, desperate to put this missing piece of the puzzle into its proper place. Desperate to be one step closer to defeating Voldemort.

* * *

A/N: As always, thanks for you follows, favorites, views, and reviews.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: 12/8/19 - This is another one where I knew the end and the beginning but the middle gave me all sorts of hell, which in turn made me redo the end and the beginning only to not like it and put them back, and then re-contemplate the middle. Viscous circle.

* * *

"So . . . seven then?"

"Hmmm?" the headmaster inelegantly responded, pulling out of the deep thoughts he'd lost himself in. "I'm sorry, what was that, Harry?"

"Seven Horcruxes?"

"Six, I think," Dumbledore said distractedly. "Seven pieces of his soul, one of which inhabits his body."

"Six," Harry repeated. "And we've already taken care of four and have a lead on the fifth. The Diary, the Ring, the Diadem, and the one in me," Harry tried very hard not to growl out that last one but failed spectacularly, "have been destroyed. And we know Umbridge got the Locket from Mundungus. So one more."

"I'm not so sure, Harry," Hermione offered, and both wizards turned to regard the brilliant young witch. "I think it might actually be seven after all."

"Miss Granger, that would make eight pieces, which is not the powerful magical number Voldemort was looking for," Albus stated.

"Yes, but while he knows he has . . . had . . . a connection to Harry, it doesn't seem like he knows Harry had been made into a Horcrux, and so he would have worked to create what he thought was the sixth as soon as he had a body again," she offered.

"That's . . . very insightful, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said as he absently stroked his beard. "Yes, the more I think about it the more your logic makes sense."

"Two more to find, then," Harry stated.

"I believe so," the headmaster responded.

"Any idea what they might be?" the teenage wizard asked.

"As a matter of fact . . ." the elder wizard responded, standing and moving to the cabinet that held the memories Dumbledore had collected about Voldemort. He pulled one in particular from the shelf and moved back to the Pensieve, pouring the contents of the vial into the basin. "I was going to show this memory to you tomorrow, but since we're all already here and it is related to the topic at hand I guess it would be appropriate to watch it now instead." Dumbledore made an 'after you' motion and the two teens stepped forward and into the memory, Albus following quickly behind.

They re-emerged a short time later. "I'm assuming something happened to Ms. Smith not long after this memory occurred," Harry offered when they had all retaken their seats.

"Indeed, Harry," Albus offered. "She died not two days after Tom's visit, allegedly poisoned by Hokey."

"I find that exceedingly unlikely," Hermione huffed. "But I'm also guessing that wizard prejudices against house elves made the case open and shut."

"An astute observation, Miss Granger. Indeed, no one investigated her death further. More importantly for us, no one investigated the disappearance of Slytherin's Locket or Hufflepuff's Cup after poor Hepzibah's death."

"So we know what the locket looks like," Harry said simply. He turned to the headmaster. "I figured that you were showing me all of these memories to subtly hint what you believed the Horcruxes to be. We already know the locket is most likely the Horcrux Regulus stole and Umbridge now has. You believe Hufflepuff's Cup is another."

"While it's true that I wanted you to try and gain a deeper understanding of Tom's history, I will admit an ulterior motive was to show you the Horcruxes."

"Could you not just have said that from the out?" Harry growled.

"Harry, please understand. Until Horace's memory I had no idea how many there actually were. I assumed Tom would use a magical number, but that could have been –"

"Save it," Harry said, standing and pacing about the room. "You knew from the beginning what a Horcrux was. You knew from the beginning, or at least suspected, that I was one. You knew from the beginning what at least some of the others were." Harry stopped and stared at the headmaster. "You're dying."

Dumbledore breathed in deeply. "Yes, Harry."

"And if we don't manage to finish this before your time comes you want me to finish this crusade." The elder wizard nodded. "Then why not just tell me all of it? Why the runaround? We could have gone over all of this and then worked on strategy, or worked on spellwork, or any other of a hundred beneficial things. Why has it taken you two terms to reveal even this much of what you know?"

Albus moved back around his desk and sank into his chair. "I suppose there are two main reasons or, more accurately, one reason and one response that can, in hindsight, only be classified as an excuse. I had hoped to be able to take this time to find them myself; locate them at the least, destroy them if possible, so as to save you the burden later."

"That's why you've been leaving the castle, sir?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Using these memories in addition to what else I know of Tom I have tried to retrace his steps throughout his life, to try and find places of significance that he would deem 'worthy' enough to place one of the pieces of his soul. I'm sorry to say that I'd only discovered one additional place and, from what you relayed to me of Kreacher's story, that was where the Locket was housed and can now be crossed off the list."

"That sounds like the excuse, sir," Harry said. "Now how about the reason?"

Dumbledore pondered for a long few moments as Harry glared at him before he spoke again. "Harry, from almost the moment you came to Hogwarts you have had something precious. You have had people that you can depend and rely on. You have people that you trust with your life, whose motives you never doubt. That you believe in with everything you are, and know in your heart that they will stand by your side no matter what, to victory or defeat, life or death.

"How I envy you that, Harry," Dumbledore continued after a moment, and Harry sat back down next to Hermione as the headmaster continued. "With rare exception I have not felt that way about someone, felt that I can rely on them unequivocally and absolutely without question, in . . . well, in a very long time. There are experiences in my past that have left me doubting my own ability to judge people's characters, and as such makes it very difficult to lay all my cards on the table, as they say. Regardless of what I've said in public or how the people I've chosen to surround myself with strive toward the light, I still hold doubt in the deepest reaches of my heart, and that consequentially makes me wary. I would surmise that it is my own shortcomings that are the main reason why this has taken as long as it has." The Headmaster looked up at the two teens. "But you're absolutely correct; if anyone has earned the right to the truth, to my complete trust to see done what needs doing, it is you. You, and you Miss Granger, who have risked life and limb time and again to ensure that the right thing, and not the easy thing, is done. The two of you, whose depth of love and absolute trust in each other was enough to do what I thought to be impossible in the destruction of your Horcrux. You have proven yourselves intelligent, resourceful, and dedicated to what you know to be right and true and just. As I said earlier, a few days ago I realized that this is no longer my fight, but yours. You're right that I'm likely not long for this world, and it will be up to you two, and those you choose to surround yourselves with, to guide our world forward beyond Voldemort."

"Professor, you keep talking about trust and doing the right thing versus the easy thing," Harry began. "And I accept the fact that, especially in these times, it's difficult to know whom to trust. I also won't lie and say that my opinions on your objectivity with that trust isn't skewed." At Dumbledore's raised eyebrow, Harry responded. "Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Oh, save it!" Harry yelled, standing and pacing once again. "The man is a cynical, sallow, bitter bastard with, as far as I can tell, no redeeming qualities aside from his skill with potions. He certainly hasn't _acted_ like a professor for the last six years, especially to me. Why should I use that honorific when he clearly hasn't earned it?"

"Harry, I understand that yours and Severus's relationship is . . . tenuous, but please understand that, at least in regard to this venture, your desires and ultimate goals are aligned. He has as much desire to see the end of Voldemort as you."

"I highly doubt that," Harry scoffed. "I still don't understand what could have happened that would make you trust him so."

"Your mother happened, Harry," Albus said, stopping Harry in his tracks. "I'm about to tell you something that I swore to Severus I would never reveal, but I believe it more important that you understand both why I believe in Severus and why he is so antagonistic towards you." The elder wizard sighed deeply and then began. "Severus and your mother were childhood friends. They came to Hogwarts together and even though she was sorted into Gryffindor and he into Slytherin their friendship endured. Right up until the end of their Fifth Year."

"The fight down by the lake," Harry whispered, which made both Albus and Hermione look at him questioningly. "When you had Snape trying to teach me Occlumency last year, I . . . came across a memory of his. It was after their O.W.L.s, and my Dad was giving Snape a hard time down by the lake. Mum came up and starting yelling at Dad to leave him alone, and Snape . . . he called her a Mudblood."

"Yes, Harry," Albus said sadly. "Years of friendship ruined by a word spoken in the heat of the moment. Severus allowed his embarrassment and his pride to overrule all else and, at least in his mind, it drove your mother straight into James Potter's arms instead of his own, and himself into Voldemort's inner circle. You are the proof, every day, of what his error cost him; the only person he ever truly cared about."

"Snape . . . Snape was in love with my mum?"

"Not was, Harry. Still very much is. When he discovered that it was you that the prophecy could have spoken of, he begged me to hide all three of you away so that Voldemort wouldn't find you. Unfortunately, that didn't –"

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "Wait. How did Snape know about the prophecy?" Albus winced slightly at being so distracted that he let that piece of information loose while Harry stopped pacing and turned toward the Headmaster's desk. Both of the other occupants of the room could feel Harry's magic starting to roil. "You told me on the night Sirius died that someone had heard Trelawney give the beginning of the prophecy when you met her in the Hogs Head." Harry's face was completely void of emotion. "It was Snape. Snape heard it, and told Voldemort."

"Yes, Harry. And when Voldemort killed your mother he swore vengeance. And he has had to live with what he did every moment of every day since then."

"Had to live with it? _Had to live with it?!_ " Harry screamed. An ink bottle on the desk burst in a flare of wild magic. " _I've_ had to live with it, Professor. _I_ had to grow up without my parents. _I_ had to live in that house with those despicable people. _I'm_ the one who has been stalked, some days by madmen, some days by fans who for whatever reason love me for something that I didn't even do. It's _my_ godfather that's dead. _My_ best friend, my brother in every way that mattered, that's dead. Because of him. So don't sit there and tell me that Snape has gotten the short end of the stick all these years!" Robes were being ruffled by the wind that had picked up around Harry, and things seemed in real danger of escalating further when Hermione slammed herself into him, grabbed him by both sides of his face, and made him look down at her.

"Harry. Harry, I want you to think about something for a moment. Think about Third Year, the broom. Think about how miserable we were that we'd let that come between us. Then think about how you would feel if we had never worked it out." The wild swirl of magic faded almost instantaneously, and Harry staggered back as if he'd been punched in the chest, even bringing his hand up to his heart as if it were hurting. "And now imagine that sometime later someone killed me, because of something you revealed to them about me, with that having happened."

Tears fell from Harry's eyes. "Hermione, I'd never –"

"Imagine how you would feel. What you would do. Who you would become. You would swear vengeance on whoever did it, just like you swore vengeance on whoever killed Ron." She took a step forward and put her hands over his on his chest. "I'm not asking you to forgive, love. I'm asking you to understand. To empathize. Yes, Professor Snape is an unbelievable bastard, and even in all this there is no excuse for a teacher to treat a student the way he has you." She turned a hard look at the Headmaster as she said the last part, and Albus had the decency to look chagrined. "But put yourself in his shoes and try to see the world as he must see it. Probably the only person who ever gave a damn about him killed by the person he believed in above all others. Does it excuse him? No. Does it explain him? I'd have to say yes."

"I still want to kill him," Harry choked out.

"I know."

"I still refuse to respect him."

"That's fine."

"I still hate him."

"And I'd be worried if you didn't," she answered immediately. "You don't have to like someone to be on the same side.

Harry nodded in understanding as he pulled Hermione into a hug. "Let's not talk about you dying ever again, okay?"

Hermione smiled as she wrapped her arms around him. "Okay," she confirmed as she squeezed.

"Now do you understand why I trust Severus, Harry?" came the Headmaster's voice once the teens had a few moments to settle.

"Doesn't mean I like it," Harry replied as he and Hermione re-took their seats. "Or that I excuse his actions. Or yours, for that matter."

"I understand," Albus said. "And we can discuss it further at another time if you'd like. But there are other duties to attend to today, and I'd like to finish our conversation about the Horcruxes."

Harry nodded, content to let the events of Thursday slide for the moment as well; there was work to do. "So, the Locket and probably Hufflepuff's Cup, and one other."

"Yes," Dumbledore said.

"Any ideas?" the teen wizard prompted. Dumbledore nodded before speaking.

" _I wonder what you will say when I confess that I have been curious for a while about the behavior of the snake, Nagini?"_ (from _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,_ J.K. Rowling, 2005)

{-}

"Harry?"

"Yes, Luna?"

"We've all been coming into this room for a few weeks now, yes?"

"Sounds about right."

"Have any of us given this giant map of Hogwarts any more than a cursory glance?"

Harry looked up from the book on fire spells that he had been reading to regard the blond, who herself was intently examining the map of the castle and grounds that dominated the center of the room. Indeed, in the weeks they had been coming to the War Room at basically every opportunity he hadn't spared a second thought for it. He rose from the conference table, looking over at the Pensieve where he knew Hermione and Neville were currently watching a memory-lesson on 'proper deportment and decorum.' He knew he should probably watch it too but it sounded dead boring compared to learning how to throw a fireball like the wizards in books and on television did. He walked over to Luna and the map and took some time to study it.

It looked much like it did the first time he'd beheld it the day he'd found the Room. In the castle proper were mostly small green dots, with a few yellow and one or two red thrown into the mix. Out on the grounds was again mostly green, with several yellows and some quickly moving red dots where the Forbidden Forest would be. "This . . . looks like a more basic version of the Marauders Map," he said after a moment. "I'd bet the dots represent people, but there's no names associated."

"Not people, at least not entirely," Luna corrected. "There wouldn't be that many people in the Forest. I think it might just represent sentient beings." At Harry's confused look, she explained. "I'd surmise that the yellow dots in the Forest are likely centaurs, and the red Acromantulas. I believe that the map somehow knows how living souls in its range are aligned against . . . maybe the castle? Or the person who summoned the room? Green means they mean no harm. Yellow means they can go either way. Red means they intend harm. Or something of the like."

"What makes you think all that?"

"Supposition. It makes the most logical sense given the percentages of the colored dots. Plus, I spent twenty minutes lining up dots in the castle with those on the Marauders Map; the yellows are mostly Slytherins with known histories of bigotry or links to Death Eaters, and the reds seem to be people like Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle. Additionally, you mentioned that some time ago Hagrid told you that the leader of the Acromantula colony was dying."

"Aragog, yeah. And Aragog himself said that the rest of them don't attack people because of him."

"So again, it makes the most sense that the red dots are Acromantulas that are scouting the edge of the Forest, perhaps making plans for when Aragog is dead and they are no longer restricted."

Harry eyed the blond carefully, and she returned the stare with her large silver eyes. "Ron had a term for girls like you and Hermione."

"Oh?"

"Yep. Brilliant, but scary."

The smile Luna gave him back just pushed her deeper into the latter category in Harry's mind.

{-}

The free time of the two weeks leading up to the Easter Holidays were spent in the War Room by all four teens. By keeping an eye on the Map they had discovered that Draco was entering and exiting the Room of Requirement quite often, and so they tried as much as possible to keep the Room occupied to stymy whatever it was he was working on. Harry again asked Hermione about her plans for Draco, and they agreed they would try and put them into action starting on the Thursday before Easter Break began. They wanted the situation with Malfoy over and done with before they left on the Express the following Monday not only because they didn't trust him alone in the castle over the holidays but, provided he was actually guilty, they could bring some closure for the Weasleys while they were there with them.

Their time in the War Room was devoted to reviewing the lessons Caleb Longbottom had left and doing their best to absorb the information. All learned a plethora of new offensive, defensive, and utility spells as well as basic strategy and tactics. Luna turned out to be particularly adept at healing spells, and so while all of them learned the basics she spent some extra time with additional memories on that subject. Hermione, on the other hand, was a fair hand at spells that affected the mind; illusions, memory charms, and the like. Harry and Neville, understanding that they lacked the subtlety or temperament for fields such as the girls were focusing, instead focused on raw combat magic; both boys had power in abundance, had good heads on their shoulders, and Neville especially seemed determined to live up to his ancestor's teachings. Remus and Tonks were in for a few surprises when they met up over the holiday.

The only real update from outside the castle was that Scrimgeour had made good on his word; the Wizengamot had met on the 19th and the Weasley's claim against Bellatrix Lestrange for violating _Dies Ultima_ was approved. The penalty was half of the Lestrange vault, and Arthur had sent a letter to Harry asking him to meet the family at Gringotts on Monday the 31st to see the ruling enacted. He'd agreed, also reluctantly sending a letter to Krek that he would deliver the Sword of Gryffindor to the goblins on that date. That had been an interesting conversation with the Headmaster; not only was the Sword a relic of one of the Founders but it was their only weapon against Horcruxes. Or at least it was until Harry smacked himself on the forehead for being so dense before he, Hermione, and Dumbledore delved back down into the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve some venom from the Basilisk. While the Headmaster still wasn't happy after that, he understood what Harry hoped to accomplish by parlaying with the Goblins and so agreed the Sword of Ragnuk the First would finally be able to make its way home.

{-}

Draco Malfoy was scared and frustrated. The Dark Lord had charged him with killing Dumbledore, which Draco knew was a nigh on impossible task but which he had still put at least some effort into. He smiled to himself as he thought about how he'd inadvertently managed to nab that blood traitor Weasley; it wasn't the Headmaster but knowing he'd hurt Potter still felt good, and had earned him points with the Dark Lord. However, he was more hopeful that his other scheme, the one he had proposed to his new master that would allow Death Eaters into Hogwarts, would bear more fruit. Perhaps in the course of events one of them would kill the old fool and relieve Draco of the task; he could hope, at least.

That second task had run up against a very annoying roadblock over the last few weeks, though. Someone else had been using up a lot of time in the Room of Requirement, severely cutting into his timeline to get the Vanishing Cabinet repaired. _Probably some moron using it for a shag where they won't be interrupted_ he thought bitterly to himself as he approached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Draco was glad the Easter Holidays were almost upon them; it would give him nearly two whole weeks that he planned to devote entirely to this venture, and with the castle emptying except mostly for people studying for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s his competition for the Room's time should be otherwise occupied. He snapped back out of his musings as he reached his destination and paced back and forth in front of the blank wall three times while keeping his desire for the Room in his mind. _I need the place where things are hidden. I need the place where things are hidden. I need the place where things are hidden._ He almost shouted in triumph when he saw the door materialize; at last he'd be able to get some real work done and show all of those that doubted him that he deserved a place amongst the Dark Lord's retinue.

That was the last thought that entered his mind before the red bolt of magic caught him in the back and he crumpled to the ground unconscious.

{-}

Harry threw off the Invisibility Cloak as he approached the Stunned form of Draco Malfoy. He'd wanted to use something much stronger but Hermione's repeated statements of 'innocent until proven guilty' kept his spell non-lethal. A quick _Mobilicorpus_ had Draco bouncing inelegantly into the Room, followed by Harry and then Hermione, who appeared from down the hall after a moment, Marauders Map in hand. "He was alone, so we should be fine," she said, to which Harry just nodded as they entered the vast space where all of the lost things of Hogwarts accumulated.

They found the most uncomfortable looking chair they could and dropped Draco on it, securing him with an _Incarerous_ that was perhaps a bit tighter than it needed to be. Hermione walked over while Harry tipped the Slytherin's head back, and into the bound teen's mouth the witch put the requisite three drops of the Veritaserum she had taken from the Potions Storeroom before waking him with a _Rennervate._ Just like Harry had seen with Barty Crouch Junior after the Third Task, Draco came to slack-faced and seemingly staring into infinity.

"Are you Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"Have you taken the Dark Mark?"

"Yes."

"What did you have to do in order to get the Mark?"

"The Dark Lord ordered me to kill Dumbledore, and when I swore on my life and those of my parents that I would he gave me the Mark."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other; at least now they knew for sure who Draco had been trying to kill.

"Did you curse Katie Bell?"

"No."

Harry frowned. "Did you have anything to do with what happened to Katie Bell last October?"

"Yes."

"Explain."

"I placed Madame Rosmerta under the _Imperius_ Curse and ordered her to in turn do the same to Bell. She was then to order Bell to take a cursed necklace to Dumbledore, but that stupid bitch couldn't even do that much right. Went and touched the thing before she could hand it over."

"Are you sorry that Katie was hurt?" Harry was pretty sure of the answer, but Hermione had been adamant that it be asked anyway.

"Why should I be? She's just a worthless blood traitor with no respect for the natural order."

Harry steamed, but kept up his line of questioning. "Is Madame Rosmerta still cursed?"

"Yes, I stop by every Hogsmeade weekend to re-curse her and have a little fun."

"Fun?"

"Yes. She's a brilliant shag."

Hermione gasped. "You raped her?"

"I took what was mine by right of being her better. If the stupid slag didn't want it she should have fought the curse harder." At that response Hermione, rage barely contained, turned and walked back into the stacks of detritus in the room while Harry continued with the questions.

"Why have you been coming to this room so often?"

"I came up with a plan that would allow Death Eaters to enter the castle past all of the protections."

"And what's that?"

"When those blood traitor Weasley twins stuffed Montague in the Vanishing Cabinet during Fifth Year, he later said that he could sometimes hear things going on at Hogwarts and at Borgin and Burkes while he was stuck in there. When he got out later everyone dismissed it as unimportant, but I realized that if the cabinet could be fixed then people could travel between the one in Knockturn Alley and the one here. I've been trying to repair it."

Harry pondered the implications of Draco's plan. If he'd been allowed to succeed it could have been catastrophic; there was no telling what the Death Eaters would do if they got into Hogwarts. _But what if we turned it around on them?_ he thought to himself. _What if we used the cabinet to go to them? No, Draco said it was at Borgin and Burkes, that wouldn't work. Wait . . . what about luring them through and then capturing them? That would be comparatively low risk; we could have a force of Aurors and Order members capturing them as they came out of the cabinet. And it's likely that Voldemort would send some of his best; taking them out of the picture would be a big boost for the war._

As Harry lost himself in thought the Veritaserum worse off and Draco began frantically trying to get out of his bindings until he looked up and identified his captor. A sneer crossed his face as he saw Harry staring off into space. "You've done it now, Potter. Not even Dumbledore will be able to save you from Azkaban when the Aurors come to arrest you for this."

Hearing Draco speak snapped Harry out of his daze, and he looked at his rival and smiled. "I've already kidnapped one person in the last week and got away with it; why not two?" Harry answered simply. "But we're not done yet, Draco. I know that you're a Death Eater. I know that you've been trying to kill Dumbledore. I know that you've repeatedly cursed and assaulted Rosmerta. I know that you're conspiring with Voldemort to allow Death Eaters into Hogwarts. But there's still one matter that needs settling. I know you're not under the potion's effects anymore, but you're such a sick fuck I'll bet you're aching to answer this one anyway." Harry crouched down and met Draco's look of hatred with one of his own. "Tell me about the bottle of mead that killed Ron."

Draco put on a sinister smile before he began. "Ah, yes. That was brilliant, wasn't it? I meant for that bottle to make its way to Dumbledore, but knowing that you had to watch that useless blood traitor choke on his own fluids was totally worth not getting the old Muggle lover. Did that hurt, Potter, watching the life leave his pathetic eyes? To have to sit there, the vaunted Boy-Who-Lived, helpless and impotent as the poison slowly ended his miserable life? I'll bet it did hurt, didn't it? I'll bet you cried like a little bitch for that worthless sack of shit, just like you probably did when Aunt Bellatrix put that fool Black through the Veil last year. Well get used to it, Potter; that's the fate that awaits everyone you care about who stands against the Dark Lord. That old fool Dumbledore; the rest of those red-headed peasants; that mangy werewolf." Draco smiled. "And who could forget the know-it-all Mudblood? We'll save her for last. Pass her around like the cheap whore she is. I'm going to especially enjoy fucking her while you watch, Potter, just to punish you more before the Dark Lord finishes you off. I'll even curse her so that she'll yell out how much she loves it right in your face, right before I slit her throat and let her dirty disgusting blood spray out all over you. You're going to die, and I'm going to revel in knowing that you'll do so battered and broken both in body and in spirit, despairing in knowing that you've lost everything, and I played my part in your despair. That will be a day I cherish for the rest of my life, and it's coming sooner than you think."

Draco finished his diatribe and they both sat there silently, continuing to stare each other down for a long while. The vehemence that passed between them went way beyond their long-held animosity and antagonism; this was raw hostility, a new level of hatred and contempt that there was no recovering from. Only a single word, spoken quietly but firmly into the silence, finally broke the stalemate between the two wizards.

" _Crucio._ "

* * *

A/N: As always, thanks for your favorites, follows, views, and reviews.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry rolled to his right, spinning and drawing his wand as he did so, intent on engaging the threat that had cast the Unforgiveable. His mind caught up with his reflexes an instant later, the pained screams of his captive indicating that Harry had not been the target. His eyes swept the part of the room that he could see and he immediately focused on her. Tears were streaming from the brown eyes that he had known for years but her wand held steady in her hand as she continued to hold Draco under the curse. As he stood and started walking toward her he noticed two concerned-looking blonds come from around one of the nearby junk piles, wands in hand ready to meet an opponent. Seeing what was taking place caused their stances to ease, and they reached her just as Harry did. His hand come up and gently wrapped around hers that was holding her wand, slowly pressing it down to her side. His actions snapped her focus and it seemed as if she did not quite recognize him for a second.

Harry knew the instant she'd realized what she'd done, as her wand dropped from unfeeling fingers as she began to shake. Harry just moved closer, wrapping her tightly in his arms as she began to scream out her pain, anguish, and frustration into his shoulder. Neville and Luna, wands now away, quickly moved over and enveloped the pair of them, lending their love and support to their obviously hurting friend. After a moment another set of arms came around the group, the head of bushy brown hair blocking the last of Harry's vision as Hermione tucked herself in close to the other four.

{-}

"Hey guys, have you seen Harry and Hermione?" Ginny asked as she walked up to Luna and Neville in the Library. "They disappeared right after dinner, and I know that you two have been spending a lot of time with them."

Neville looked up from his Transfiguration homework to take in his Yule Ball date from 2 years prior. Those intervening years had been kind to her, as evidenced by the interest in her amongst the males of Hogwarts. While still willowy and lithe she had developed in all the right places, and her fair complexion combined with her fiery red hair presented quite an appealing package. Neville still preferred Luna, of course, but he would be a fool not to admit that Ginny had grown even more attractive as the years passed. Ron's death, however, had left its mark on her; worry lines now almost constantly creased her brow and there was an expression somewhere between rage and resignation almost constantly on her face. Perhaps worst was that she had seemed to lose much of her spirit; where before Ginny could be counted on to liven up any room and be unafraid to speak her mind on any topic, since the first of March she'd been reserved, blending into the background so much that Neville didn't think he'd actually spoken more than 5 or 6 sentences to her since then. He mentally shook himself and responded to the question. "They didn't mention anything to me, but more than likely they're in the Room of Requirement. That's where we've been spending most of our time."

"Do you think we can go find them? Dad wanted me to check with Harry about something he'd written him, and Mum was wondering if Hermione was going to be spending any time at the Burrow over the break."

Neville looked over at his girlfriend, who nodded and began putting up her books and papers. "Sure, Ginny, just let us get our stuff together." A few minutes later the trio left the Library and made their way up to the tapestry opposite the entrance to the Room. Seeing a door already in place Ginny made her way to it, while both Neville and Luna took a moment to contemplate why it wasn't the door to the War Room like they were expecting.

Throwing open the door, all three were momentarily stunned by what the Room had created. It was literally a cathedral of rubbish, piled into huge stacks throughout the massive space with narrow pathways winding in between the mountains. Looking toward the other two, all Luna could do was shrug. "No idea, but they must have a good reason for being in here. Let's split up and see if we can find them. If you do, shoot up green sparks." Plan made, they each took a path into the unknown looking for their wayward friends, wands in hand since they had no idea what they might find in their journeys.

Ginny wasn't sure how long she had been looking, or how many twists and turns her route had taken, when she heard voices coming from not too far away. She tried to focus on them, hitting a couple of dead ends before coming part way around a corner to find Harry standing over a bound-to-a-chair Draco Malfoy. He crouched in front of the Slytherin and Ginny listened as Harry spoke.

"Tell me about the bottle of mead that killed Ron."

Ginny held her gasp at the question and felt her anger spike higher than it ever had before as Draco put on his most evil smile and answered Harry's query. As the blond kept talking her emotions grew more and more; Draco was bragging – BRAGGING! – about the fact that he'd had a hand in killing her brother, and was doing his best to provoke Harry with his comments, and her tears fell for the boy she loved, both as a brother and as more, as he was forced to listen to this vitriol. When Draco mentioned 'those red-headed peasants' she felt her grip on her wand tighten almost painfully. When Ginny heard the depraved and disgusting things that Draco wanted to do to Hermione that hand came up, the yew and dragon heartstring wand centering itself on the bound teen. Anger and hatred flowed through her like never before, and in that moment she had never wanted to cause a living thing pain more than she did Draco Malfoy. As the two boys stared at each other, the incantation flowed from her lips like an inevitable flood, every negative emotion she'd experienced in the last four weeks powering the spell that flew from her wand.

" _Crucio._ "

Ginny watched in a sort of detached, horrified fascination as the haughty sneer instantly left Draco's visage, replaced by a look of shock and agony. She observed how the veins in his forehead and neck became distinct as the muscles underneath them tightened, how his entire body locked up before it began to shake as if movement would alleviate the sensations flowing through him from Ginny's curse. Tears fell from his eyes and snot from his nose, but it was his screams that caught her interest the most. Torture. Pain. Fear. Helplessness. All were encased in his cries.

All of the things that she'd been feeling since this fucker had killed Ron.

She had no idea how long she kept him under her wand before she felt a hand gently take hers. As both hands lowered, the volume in the room decreased, and in the absence of the subject of her focus she once again became aware of the world around her. She turned her head to the side and saw Harry standing there; when had he moved? She blinked a few times, trying to line up her recollections with the current state of things, and as the implications of what she'd done slammed into her she dropped her wand in horror. Shock began to settle in as another emotion began to override all of the other negativity that she'd been internalizing.

Shame. Bone-deep, unescapable shame at having cast an Unforgivable Curse on a helpless victim.

She began to shake, but just as she felt that her legs were about to give out she felt Harry pull her into him, one hand wrapping around her waist while the other took its place on the back of her neck. She tried to yell, to ask him how he could bear to touch her after what she'd just done, but all that came out were sobs. She offered no resistance as he gently guided her head to his shoulder, and like a ring buoy thrown to a drowning person she latched onto him like he was the only thing that would keep her alive through the storm she had just entered. After a few moments she felt two more bodies press close, long hair tickling the side of her face on one side as strong arms from a tall frame embraced her from the other. A short time later a last set of arms encased the group, and in that moment she knew that, somehow, she would be okay. Her friends still loved her and would not abandon her to her sadness, fear, and guilt. They would help her back out into the light of day, and she would be stronger for it.

If only everyone shared those same sentiments.

"You blood traitor whore," Draco wheezed out as he finally caught his breath. "I'll make sure they throw you in the deepest, darkest hole in Azkaban they can, at least until the Dark Lord rules over all. Then maybe we'll come get you and you can share Granger's fate. Not even your dear beloved Potter will be able to save you now."

Harry slowly released Ginny into the arms of the others before turning to Malfoy. "Are you sure about that, Draco?" he asked simply as his wand appeared in his hand. "Maybe we should test both your theory and your handiwork, hmm? _Petrificus Totalus_." As the Slytherin's body once again locked up, this time under the effect of the Body-Bind, Harry released the ropes and Levitated him out of the chair. The others watched, unsure of what the plan was, as Harry grabbed Draco by his hair and began pulling him down one of the paths. Looking at each other, all equally clueless, they had no choice but to follow if they wanted to know what was going on.

They trailed Harry and his human cargo for many minutes as he was obviously looking for something specific. Twisting and turning through the flotsam of centuries, the black-haired Gryffindor finally found what he was searching for. He'd seen this particular one once or twice over the years, and vaguely remembered its twin sitting in Borgin and Burkes when they'd followed Draco there at the end of Summer. Harry yanked hard on Draco's now disheveled hair, pulling a solid clump out entirely as he set the other teen twirling unceremoniously in place as the Levitation Charm remained active. While Draco was spinning like a top, which would probably have been nauseating with the speed Harry had spun him had he not been Petrified, Harry threw open the doors on the Vanishing Cabinet before turning back to Draco. He stopped the other boy's spinning before manipulating him until he was floating relatively upright. Harry brought him low enough so that he could once again stare at his hated rival as he began speaking. "Since you said 'I've been _trying_ to repair it' instead of 'I _have repaired_ it,' I'm guessing you're not quite done with your task just yet. Which works out for me, though not so much for you." Harry pushed Draco slightly, and he began drifting toward the entrance to the Cabinet. "I know what you're thinking. 'You stupid half-blood bastard,'" Harry began in the most mocking impression of Draco he could manage, "'I already told you that Montague figured out how to get out of this thing. All I have to do is wait for the _Petrificus Totalus_ to wear off and I can Apparate out, and then I'll make sure you all die painful deaths.'" Harry then continued in his normal voice. "Good plan. Three problems with it, though. One," Harry's off hand came up to Malfoy's eye level, "I have your wand. I don't know if you remember this from lessons, but it's very hard to Apparate without a wand. Only a few people can manage it." Harry's own wand went into his pocket before both hands took hold of Draco's, and with a quick jerk hawthorn and unicorn hair alike were both snapped jaggedly in two. Harry tossed the two pieces in opposite directions among the rest of the rubbish and re-drew is own wand. "Oops. Second, even if you _had_ a wand, I remember those Apparition lessons quite well. Specifically, I remember that you are utter shite at Apparating. Desperate situations can make people capable of amazing things, however; hell, I've lived a few of those instances myself. So even without a wand, and even sucking at Apparating, given the situation you may be able to pull it off.

"Therefore, we come to Problem Three. Something I learned from one of our many illustrious Defense professors and have recently had the chance to revisit. Something guaranteed to make sure that you stay trapped in Limbo in the object of your planned eventual triumph until . . . well, until whatever happens to you happens. Maybe you'll starve. Maybe there's a finite amount of oxygen and you'll suffocate. Or, if I'm very very lucky, maybe you'll just stay stuck forever and go slowly insane, wondering how you and your superior breeding were ever bested by a half-blood, a Mudblood, a blood traitor, a loony, and a Squib. But I'm digressing. Yes, Problem Three. Hermione is so much better than me at this – I suppose that's true for a great many things – but since I'm not going for precision here I think I'll manage." Harry maneuvered Draco until he was just about to enter the Vanishing Cabinet before taking a step back and bringing his wand up to aim between Draco's eyes. "Goodbye, Draco Malfoy. When you finally get to Hell say hi to Bellatrix for me - provided you remember your own name. _Obliviate_."

As Draco's eyes glossed over, Harry pushed him the rest of the way into the Cabinet and quickly shut the doors. " _Accio rope_ " he called out, and a length of hemp arrived from somewhere amongst the rubble. Harry quickly wrapped it around the knobs of the Cabinet's doors, effectively locking them shut. Not yet content, he then stepped back and began forming a sarcophagus of heavy objects around the device. Once complete, he turned back to the other four people in the Room, all of whom were looking at him in befuddlement. "I have no idea how these things actually work. Sure, I probably blasted Draco's memories back to the mid-80s somewhere, but if one Cabinet is destroyed would he pop out of the other one? This one should be fairly safe here, so even if the other one is destroyed he won't be getting out of it." He stopped speaking as the others continued staring. "What?"

"That . . . that was . . ." Hermione began.

Harry looked a bit crestfallen. "Deranged? Evil? Excessive? Uncalled for?"

"Bloody brilliant," Neville commented.

"Very clever," Luna added.

"Better than he deserved," Ginny replied.

"Smart and decisive. And kinda sexy as hell," Hermione finished as she walked up to Harry and kissed him.

He wrapped his arm around her as he looked back at his friends. "You don't think I went too far?"

"Harry," Neville began. "I'm not exactly sure what took place before I got there, but if it was bad enough for Ginny to be able to cast an Unforgivable I'm going to guess it was pretty bad."

Ginny chimed in. "He admitted to having a hand in killing Ron, and how he was going to get off on watching the rest of us die. And then the stuff he said about Hermione . . ." The redhead cringed.

"Before that he'd admitted to repeatedly raping Madame Rosmerta while she was under the _Imperius_ Curse, and having Rosmerta give Katie that necklace that put her in St. Mungo's," Hermione added.

"So yeah, you won't see me crying any tears over Draco Malfoy."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Nev." He quickly glanced over the others. "Alright, one problem. I already said that I'd kill Malfoy if I found out he had anything to do with Ron, so when he turns up missing I'm going to be the prime suspect. The way I see it, we can handle this in two ways. One, we can take a series of Unbreakable Vows with each other not to reveal anything about this to anyone else. Alternatively, Hermione and I can take the Vow with each other before she Obliviates the rest of you."

The other three pondered a moment before Luna, the Ravenclaw, noticed a flaw in his plan. "Harry, we'll notice that we lost time, and we'll get suspicious. How do we avoid that?"

"Well . . ." Harry began nervously, starting to blush as his hand raked through his hair. "I was thinking that I could say I asked Hermione to Obliviate you after you guys came to the Room and . . . kinda . . . sorta . . . caught us having sex."

"What!?"

"Sorry, love, it's the best I could come up with on the fly."

"That's actually not bad," Neville said. "I can't see any of us disagreeing to be Obliviated in order to . . . uhhh, protect your guys' modesty. So it would seem plausible and reasonable. And even if we suspected the truth, we wouldn't be able to tell anyone."

Harry looked at the troubled expression on Ginny's face. "Gin?"

"I'll take the Vow," she answered quickly. "After the Diary, I really don't like the idea of anyone or anything messing with my head. Plus I want . . . I need, to remember what I did to Draco."

"Are you sure, Ginny?" Hermione asked.

The redhead nodded. "I think that should always be with me. That I'm . . . capable of that, so that I can make sure it never happens again. Plus, I'd be lying if there wasn't a small part of me that needs to know what happened to Ron, and that his death was avenged."

Harry nodded. "I've never told anyone this, but when I chased Bellatrix at the Ministry last year I cast it on her briefly. So I know what you mean, Gin." If he was expecting accusatory expressions from his friends for his revelation he was incorrect; no negativity was being laid at either his or Ginny's feet for what they had been capable of under such duress.

Hermione's eyes were shooting left and right quickly, a surefire sign to Harry that she was formulating and tweaking a plan. She looked down at the floor and found what she was looking for, right where Harry had nonchalantly discarded it. "Actually, I think we should all take the Vow. I have an idea, but I'm going to need some help with it."

{-}

"Draco, where have you been?" Pansy Parkinson asked as she saw the blond step into the compartment. "Aside from a few random sightings, no one has seen you for days."

"And I thought you weren't going home for Easter," Crabbe added.

Draco brushed Pansy off when she tried to take his arm as he sat down. "I've been working on something. And I need to head home to grab a few things to help me finish it."

"Why not just have them owled to you?" Pansy asked.

The Slytherin looked around before answering quietly. "They aren't things you want to put through owl post. It'll be hard enough sneaking them past that useless Squib Filch on the way back into the castle."

"Is this for the Dark Lord?" she whispered.

His sneer was as strong as she'd ever seen it as he leaned back. "Do you really expect me to answer that. I've been busy, and I have business to attend to. Let it go."

"But Draco –"

"For Merlin's sake," he cried, grabbing his pack and heading for the door. "I'm going to go find someplace to make this trip in peace." The door slammed shut loudly behind him as he departed.

"Nice going, Parkinson," Goyle jibed.

"Well, excuse me for being concerned about him," she retorted hotly. "He's been acting strangely all year, and then he just up and disappears for 3 days. And did you see how his robes were just hanging off him? He's must have lost at least a stone since term started."

"Those Second Years said they saw him Saturday morning," Crabbe responded.

"Yes, hurrying toward a seemingly abandoned hallway," Pansy answered. "And Greengrass said she saw him come back into the dorm late that night while she was up studying. What has he been up to?" she wondered to the room. She hoped she'd be able to catch him before he got off the train in London, if only to apologize for riling him. Even if he wouldn't tell them what was going on she knew he had a lot on his mind, and that the weight of whatever he was working on was slowly but surely taking its toll.

{-}

About 20 minutes after Draco's unceremonious exit from the compartment with Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle, Neville Longbottom entered the compartment being shared by the other surviving members of the team that had gone to the Ministry the previous June. His robes once again fit the way they were supposed to, his restored frame larger than the one he had temporarily adopted. He settled down on the bench next to Luna, who wrapped her arms around him as Hermione shot a _Muffliato_ at the door. "Any trouble?" she asked quietly once the charm was in place.

"I don't think so," he replied. "It seemed like they bought it."

"Good," she said back. "That wasn't what I had originally intended that Polyjuice for, but it should throw people off the scent when 'Draco' doesn't come back from the hols."

Harry nodded. Hermione's plan to have it appear as if Draco ran off during the break, seemingly to avoid Voldemort's wrath for his failure to deliver the Cabinet – or even better, that Voldemort had done something to him for his failure to kill Dumbledore - should divert attention away from any of them having a hand in the boy's disappearance. They hoped.

Harry himself was . . . amused wasn't the right word . . . perhaps intrigued . . . by how none of them were experiencing any particular remorse for what had been done to Draco. For Harry himself it was a major step toward fulfilling his promises, and he wasn't about to apologize for what he'd done any more than he was for killing Bellatrix. He'd vowed he would figure out who sent the bottle, he'd get a confession out of them, and then he'd make them pay; promise fulfilled. And even if that weren't the case Draco had already been well on his way to following in his father's demented footsteps; he'd freely said those disgusting things about Hermione, and he'd admitted to already taking the Dark Mark at sixteen. That wasn't really a road someone came back from. Dumbledore might like to use Snape as an example that it was possible, but Harry wasn't convinced Snape was moving toward the light as much as getting revenge on the man who killed Lily Potter. For as much as Harry hated the man he could at least understand and respect that.

It just further reinforced what a bastard the fledgling Death Eater had been that the others shook the incident off almost as easily; Ginny's comment of his fate being better than he deserved reinforced that belief, and they all didn't need to think too much deeper into it than that. Regardless, Harry couldn't afford to expend any more focus on Draco, as there was a lot to pack into the two weeks away from Hogwarts. He had a 'consulting meeting' (read 'photo op') with the Minister of Magic on Thursday, and that was also when Hermione and Tonks were going to implement their plan to get the locket back from Umbridge. Harry smiled at being reminded of Tonks's comments to him when they'd seen her in Hogsmeade on the way to the train. Apparently she was looking forward to crossing wands with the two teens, but that almost paled in comparison to how especially enthusiastic Tonks was to stick it to Delores; he wasn't sure what history the two women had but knowing them both it wasn't hard to imagine there being bad blood between them.

They'd destroy the Horcrux over the weekend using the Sword of Gryffindor, which Harry had (with difficulty) gotten from Dumbledore before having Kreacher take it to Grimmauld Place for safe keeping. The following Monday Harry would again pull double duty, with the Weasleys claim over half of the Lestrange vault preceding his meeting with Manager Krek regarding the return of the Sword and the possibility of the goblins' entry into the war with the services of the _Kaluresh_. Caleb's lessons were a bit vague on what exactly that order did, but there was no doubt from the war mage's memories that they were an effective ally to have in situations such as this. Harry figured he'd learn more when . . . well, if, since it wasn't by any means a sure thing that the goblins would help . . . he met the mysterious group.

And in between all of that Harry hoped to decompress a bit. While he would be staying mostly at Grimmauld he was looking forward to spending some time at the Burrow. He'd still been on edge when they'd spent the afternoon after the events of Ron's funeral there and so was looking forward to seeing everyone without that hanging over their heads. He would also be putting in some face time at Hermione's house, working toward reinforcing his relationship with her parents. They'd had an enjoyable few days together after the initial . . . disagreement . . . between Harry and Henry, and he wanted to continue building on that. He'd also see Remus and Tonks, and Neville and Luna were going to be 'evaluated' by the older couple as well, so he'd get to spend time with pretty much everyone in the world he cared about over the next two weeks. That, more than any progress toward defeating Voldemort they may have made or would make in the near future, helped to settle Harry's mind while the Hogwarts Express steamed South, the Scottish countryside giving way to the English countryside as Harry relished the time with Hermione and his other friends.

* * *

A/N: This is one of the shortest chapters I've ever published, but it didn't seem right to progress through into the break when what happened here happened here; I felt the events needed to stand on their own.

In the original plans for this story it was Hermione who cast the Unforgivable at Draco, as some of you guessed in your reviews. The above scenario popped into my head while I was driving to the store one day and I thought it worked out better than what I had already written; it gave Ginny some closure and re-introduced her into the rest of the OOTP Ministry gang, while giving Harry what I think is a better excuse for what he did to Draco than had been in the original draft. And so Hermione's foray into the Dark Side was sacrificed upon the Altar of Rewrites. Perhaps we will re-examine her Dark Lady status at a later date.

As always, thanks for your favorites, follows, views, and reviews. ZS 2/1/20


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